Secrets
by SacredRoseDream
Summary: Women everywhere fall to my charm, whether my innate glamour or my dashing smile. Well, that is, except one. Care to guess? I'll make it easy for you. Allow me to reintroduce myself...
1. Secret 1

**Note: _Expect more Harvest Moon stories in this universe. My muse is on a roll! Check out First Impressions for Claire and Skye's first meeting!_**

**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own Harvest Moon, the characters, or anything you recognize. The plot, universe, and anything you can't recognize are all mine.**_

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**Secret # 1**

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My name is Skyelynn Rilynnthus Nis Caelanea, prince of the high court of the Moon, and 167th in line for the throne. As you might have guessed, I'm not human. Or at least not entirely─my silver hair will attest to that. I am, instead, one of the heart-stoppingly beautiful fae. Women everywhere fall to my charm, whether my innate glamour or my dashing smile. Well, that is, except one. Care to guess? I'll make it easy for you. Allow me to reintroduce myself.

My name is Skyelynn Rilynnthus Nis Caelanea, prince of the high court of the Moon, and 167th in line for the throne. Better known as Skye, the Phantom Skye, and I am frustratingly, maddeningly, undeniably, fascinated by Claire Waters.

There's magic in her, and, no, I'm not trying to be poetic. There is real, honest to Goddess magic in her that's rarely seen in humans. But then, I suspect, like me, there something not quite human in her background. Not first generation, certainly, but somewhere far, far back, some naughty little boy or girl decided to lie with something magical, and here decades, maybe even centuries, later stands the result.

I wonder what it is, and suddenly, inexplicably, as though waiting for that thought, I have to know. It's not desire. It's compulsion. That pesky fae curiosity most of my kin learn to control sometime by their first century. I haven't had a century yet. Barely even a quarter of it actually. At 22, I'm a baby by fae standards, only just beginning to discover the first stirrings of my powers. Given the rate I'm going, it'll be centuries until I can be considered an adult.

Good thing that.

The fae love children. Adore them really. I suppose it comes from the fact we have so few of them. Given my knack for getting into trouble and my not so well-mannered tongue, I'd have been flayed ten times by Sunday and strung up for good measure. The worst part? I'd survive it. Whatever dear old daddy was, it certainly wasn't human enough to overcome my fae heritage. Not that I can be sure he was human at all. Mother was never good at keeping track of her lovers, but then most fae aren't. Any child is considered a blessing and the more lovers, the more likely to have one (or so it's thought). Personally, I'd have liked to know if these ears came from a human or, say, a dragon. Bleching out fire over the dinner table is not how I'd like to find out. But I digress. ..

Claire. Yes. Claire. She's standing only a few feet away, walking so silently I'm sure no mere human could hear her. I wonder if she knows she's doing it? Coaxing the very earth beneath her feet to soften her footsteps? Or is it just that her steps are that light? Feline almost…. The possibilities kill me!

I can feel her looking at me. How could I not when her stare is so intense? I wonder what she thinks of me? Does she find me handsome? Stunning? Drop-dead gorgeous? I suppress the urge to smile cockily. I'm getting distracted again. Now what was I doing again? Oh yes, luring my little cat. Excitement trills through me. How I love these games! Bread and butter for my wicked streak. And you can bet I have one. We are not the coined the dark court solely for our fondness for the night. In each of us there lives a little sadist taking supreme satisfaction in the frustration and discomfort of others. Thankfully, in my case, that satisfaction does not escalate to bloodshed. I cannot say the same for the rest.

She's drawing closer now, becoming bolder. All of my random mutterings have instilled in her a false sense of confidence. This time, I do not fight the smile on my lips. I can almost feel her. One foot? Perhaps two behind me, I can hear her breaths coming in quicker as I tighten my pace and she struggles to catch up to my longer strides. Ah, my little officer, I wonder, do you follow out of duty or out of desire? Is it justice you seek or something darker still? How I hope for the later, crave it!

Closer, closer. I speed up a bit more, dropping a line or two about that bar that holds her patronage, and I can hear her clearly now. She has abandoned all pretense in her eagerness. Tut-tut. Not the slightest bit of subtlety there, my little officer. There is so much yet you must learn. My smile is now more a grin, sharp, and almost menacing. A little faster, just a bit, as I turn the corner…

And halt suddenly.

She crashes into me, just as expected, and I allow myself to fall, suppressing the laughter rising in my chest. Then suddenly we are a tangle of limbs struggling and straining to right ourselves as we begin our descent. Electricity zings through me as we hit the ground, her body sprawling on top of mine. I smirk, unabashedly. My hand lies suspiciously close her rear, and one of her own rests firmly on my chest. Her face is delightfully close to my groin and I can feel her breath on my waist where my shirt has ridden up. All in all, better than I had planned. Far better, I think when she comes to her senses a minute later, mouth flapping open wordlessly, her clear blue eyes heated as her face flushes cherry red.

"I-I" she stammers, attempting to find her voice yet failing miserably as she notices her hand and snatches it away as though burned. Pleasure slithers through me at her embarrassment. She is simply precious! "I-I, Y—y-. W-we." She takes a breath, shaking, with desire or rage, I wonder? Either way, her passion thrills me. "What do you think you were doing?!" She shouts.

Ah, so it was rage then. My little spitfire. How beautiful she looks so disheveled in the moonlight! Positioned as we are, her still half on my lap, the heaving of her chest could easily be mistaken for passion, the tightness in her voice ardor. My smirk widens into a winsome smile, and I toss my head back, enjoying how her eyes follow the movement to drink in my now fully exposed face.

"Hmm," I mock, "now shouldn't I be asking you that, beautiful maiden?" She opens her mouth and I sit up, forcing her to rebalance herself so that she now sits in my lap our bodies separated by mere centimeters. "Tell me," I purr enjoying how she shivers as my breath caresses the shell of her ear, "what is a lovely lady like yourself doing following a handsome thief like me this late at night?" I chuckle, a deep, throaty sound as I feel her fingers tighten on my shirt. This close, I can smell her perfume, a delicate floral with a note of spice. "One would think" I pause as my hand creeps tauntingly up her spine as I speak, "you're asking to have a certain something stolen."

She gasps as I breathe the last against the shell of her ear, my lips caressing that delicate oval as my body brushes against hers. Moonlight shines over us, feeding my strength, and I allow my magic to expand, and for one perfect moment, I am rocked with small bursts of pleasure so hot, so electrifying that it is almost pain. This close I would devour her, and I feel myself almost giving in… Then she is shoving at me with her hands, frantic, and I allow myself to be moved, allow her to escape, humbled by the knowledge that she is so much weaker, so much more innocent than I.

And she is quick. Quicker than most humans as she disappears over the hill, trees rustling in her wake. But then she isn't completely human after all.

Somewhere, someplace, sometime at least one of her ancestors was fae. High fae. _Sidhe._ Nothing else would respond to my glamour with so deliciously. Nothing else could make her shine in my arms. Whatever mix she maybe, she is powerful enough to survive me. I am sure of it. My heart leaps in satisfaction.

One mystery down, yet so many more to go. I could hardly wait to start unraveling them all.

Watch out Claire Waters, the Phantom Skye is coming for you.


	2. Secret 2

**A/N: _Hi everyone. I hope you're all liking this. No reviews yet, so I don't know how I'm doing_. (T_T) **_**Please review! It makes me extremely happy to hear from you! And if you see any errors give me a shout! **_

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**Secret #2**

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I think I have frightened her, my darling Claire. Three nights have passed and not a whisper of her presence. It is now the fourth night and my curiosity has gotten the best of me. Hidden in the shadow of the leaves, I sit perched on the limbs of a tree overlooking her bedroom window. She is reading a book in bed, her blonde hair held back carelessly with an elastic band. Every once in a while she stops, casting her gaze towards the window, confusion writ plainly on her brow.

She cannot see me, of course she cannot. While her heritage grants her some immunity to my power, she is still not strong enough to resist it when willingly applied─not even in one as young as I. What is surprising is that she has enough magic to sense me, even cloaked in shadows as I am. Quite a feat given I am a prince of the night. The shadows themselves can be as much a part of me as my skin or my hair.

It only peaks my interest.

What began as a game all those nights ago at the mansion is shaping to become so much more. I must be wary lest I find myself ensnared by her. Yet the danger of it only thrills me more. Not a surprise given I have taken to thievery to amuse myself. Why else would a fae bother himself with human trinkets? And they are only that: trinkets. Not even their finest of jewels can compare to the sheer magnificence found in faerie. How could they when there are those among us who can coax the stones to life and bid the earth itself to birth them new jewels?

I wonder what she would think if she knew that necklace I stole lies buried in their courtyard, mere feet away its rightful owner? Would she scowl in distaste? Or would she, like me, appreciate the irony of having them walk each day past the very same treasure they mourn?

Cruel? Perhaps, but I have never claimed to be otherwise. I am a thief of the worst sort, with neither need nor cause to defend my actions. I take solely for the taking, without regret or remorse. And now I am stealing away her privacy, watching her as an owl watches its prey, waiting only for the perfect moment to swoop…

Minutes, hours, moments later, it comes. She is tired, tired no doubt from the strenuous labor of farm work and the strange uneasiness my presence much instill. She yawns and sets her book on the bedside table, then sits up, stretching across the bed to turn off the lap. The movement causes her bed sheets to fall aside, exposing the length of her torso covered only in a pale pink camisole. Satin, no doubt, edged with white lace. It is innocent, girlish, and utterly tempting.

Who knew that the farm girl fond of colored overalls and t-shifts could be so feminine? Or perhaps it is not that she is fond of them, but only forced to wear them due to her work? Perhaps then this is her consolation, dressing so delicately for bed? Surely it cannot be for some paramour? I have seen none and none of the men here are my equal. They are all weak, simple, ugly fools. They have neither the charm and beauty to woo her nor the power and intellect to challenge her. Marlin is the fairest of the lot, but he is no rival, too timid and insecure. He could never match her light.

But these thoughts are useless. There is no paramour. If she dresses for any man, surely it is for me. The thought pleases me and I wonder what else she has to hide. I thirst to know, and realize that this will be far from the last time I will be her voyeur in the night.

There, she is finally asleep. Stretching, I savor the feel of the wind in my hair for a moment, then launch. Skillfully, I land on her open windowsill the rustling of leaves hiding what little sound I make. My fingers catch the sill, opening wider as I step inside. Young as I am, I have not yet mastered the art of melting into shadows or shifting through space and time. Like humans I must accommodate my body, using wide windows and doors to make my entries and exits. It makes my heists more challenging, more dangerous. Immortal I may be, but not invincible. Far from it. All it takes is one lucky human and some cold iron to ensure my capture.

The danger makes it all the sweeter.

Yet, there is little danger tonight. The maiden sleeps deeply, almost as deeply as the poor, cursed princess who slumbers beneath the mine. No sound I make will awaken her. Her exhaustion is that great, and I suspect it was only my continued presence that had her putting of her sleep until so late into the night. Thus her home now, is mine to explore, and explore I do.

Eagerly I cross her purple, heart patterned rug to the wall opposite her bed where a lone chests rests against the wall. Moonlight is spilling in from the open window, illuminating the silver handle of the middle drawer invitingly. I open that one first hissing under my breath as the metal stings. Bronze no doubt. Not deadly, especially not to a mixed blood like me, but painful. Thankfully, I need not hold the handle long as the drawer opens smoothly. Inside are more of those satin camisoles in pale blue and green and white. I'm particularly fond of the white, edged as it is with black lace and cute little bows. It has just the right balance between innocence and daring. Quite like my little maiden actually.

Yet these only hold my attention partially. The bulk of my focus is instead on the embroidered and plain brassieres and matching panties. Most are what I would expect of her. Plain, functional things in solid colors and symmetric patterns. Others are deliciously surprising. Lacey things in black and pink, white and red frilly things, blues and greens with delicate bows. They run the line between charmingly girlish and temptingly womanly. Though I have seen far racier things before on far racier women, the thought of these on her body has my heart racing and my mouth dry.

Mine. The greedy, childish part of me cries. I cannot help but agree. The thought of anyone, any man seeing these sends me into fury. I will not have it. I would steal them all before it happened!

The top drawer is far tamer. Plain shirts and overalls lain out side by side, so many of them I am tempted to amend my previous thought. Yet the last drawer warns me of such folly. Inside are pretty little things that bespeak the girl who wears such negligee to a t. Swooping necklines and pleated skirts, skinny jeans and summer dresses. This is the maiden hidden beneath the sweat and dirt of farm work, the girl Claire must have been before. Before what I wonder? And I realize there is so much more of the house to explore.

With a quick perusal of her bookshelf, I leave her bedroom, heading down through the hall. There are but two doors here, and a series of floral-themed paintings hanging against the white walls. I spare them only a glance as I reach for the first door. Like her bedroom, Claire's bathroom is neat and tidy. Dressed in a set of sea-foam and sand, it is reminiscent of the sea, a fact enhanced by the shells she has used to decorate. One even serves as a soap dish, its iridescent center housing a pale pink bar.

It makes me smile, this little thing. Such a creative, feminine gesture, yet beautifully simple. It is a far cry from the ornate golden soap dishes found in the mansion on the hill. I heartily approve.

The next door does not lead to a room, but it is infinitely more enlightening. Claire's closet proves as entertaining as her drawers, giving yield to more proof that this maiden has been far from a farmer. In it, I find photo albums among the clothes and shoes and various other knickknacks she's stored there. The photos tell the story of a city girl, innocent, playful, and full of life. Yet a weary too. As though the very act of living was as draining as it was enjoyable. It is a look she does not carry now. I theorize a lack of magic was to blame.

Magic calls to magic. It is a fundamental fact of life. Those with it are drawn to it, unconsciously seeking the hidden places where it thrums through the earth rich as blood. They suffer greatly in those jungles of concrete and steel dying far younger than they should. It is a fate she might have suffered had fate not brought her here. Magic, after all, cannot exist long in places so devoid of life. Not even magic in human form.

My perusal, however, must be cut short. The night is waning and the entirety of the lower level still awaits my inspection. Getting there proves a slight challenge. A lone black cat is curled by the foot of the stairs and as I wander down past her, she turns her green gaze on me and hisses a warning as her fur stands on end. I grimace. Cats are among the few animals capable of spotting the fae even glamoured. Sprites in particular are wary of them for their tendency to pounce on small creatures. I have no such concerns, but making enemies of Claire's cat is not among my priorities.

Gratefully, the cat seems satisfied simply to watch me. I suppose it is a result of her training as a guardian of fowl. I laugh, a tinkling sound that somehow lightens the atmosphere in the room, the shadows somehow becoming softer, the room brighter. A feline guarding fowl! How novel! Surely it is her magic that makes it so. Cats are not usually so predisposed.

The lower level is far smaller than I had imagined. I walk through it, touching the tops of picture frames set against the end table, playing with the chime of her antique phone. Casual inspection proves that not only does the front door lead directly into the living room, but that dearest Claire forgets to lock up. A flick of the hand remedies the situation, but it displeases me. This is a habit she must be cured of. While locks are nothing to one like myself, it can do much to deter those with less than pleasant intentions. How she survived city life without locking her door, I cannot fathom.

Her living room in turn, is nothing much to look at. The only remarkable touch is a vase of flowers she has placed on the coffee set before a well-worn, monstrosity of a sofa and an old TV set. These, I surmise, must have belonged to the previous owner of this establishment. A male, no doubt, given the indents in the cushions. I seat myself in one, noting how much larger this man must have been for I sink near completely into it, the springs creaking as they descend under my weight.

The noise must have woken the dog, I realize, as a huge shaggy form rushes its way into the room from the kitchen, barking hoarsely. This time I groan, leaping quickly across the room as it lunges to where I stood. Suddenly I see why Claire might have felt safe with the door unlocked. Easily the size of a wolf, the black and tan shepherd is now growling ferociously in my direction, and while I am sure it cannot see me, I cannot say the same for my scent.

Fear has sweat beading on my brow and adrenaline steeling my spine. Not for myself. A dog's bite while painful will heal in mere minutes, no, what sends racing through me is the thought of waking Claire. Fear. It is invigorating, intoxicating, and painfully frustrating. What would she say if she finds me here in her domicile? What would she do? Part of me wishes to find out, the other is desperate to flee.

Taking a shaky breath I analyze the situation. The dog, is not advancing, merely growling. Perhaps it is perplexed at the quality of my scent? Perhaps it is merely posturing? Or perhaps it is that my glamour has instinctively risen to new heights, so that even I cannot see my own fingers before me, so totally have I merged with the shadows? Whatever it is, it is time to go. Much as I would like to stay, I can hear footsteps on the floor above. The dog seems to notice too, bursting into an invigorated symphony of whines and barks.

Decisions… Decisions… So long as I stay, I risk the dog alerting her to my presence, if I leave, I must cut my exploration short. Neither is particularly tempting. I sigh, running a hand through my hair and just narrowly avoiding a lunge far too close for comfort. However fun it might be to continue evading the mutt, if I stay after dawn, my power will be diminished and my games may be cut short. Permanently.

"Dax?" She queries sleepily, and her voice decides it. I flick my hand and race towards the door, locking it behind me with another flick. Outside the sky is just beginning to lighten, though the moon is still fat and full amongst the stars. I have an hour, perhaps, until dawn. Enough time to reach the entrance to faerie and then some. Casting one last glance behind me, I watch as she stumbles down the stairs, still sluggish with sleep, and coos softly to the canine. And suddenly, my flight is not so ignominious.

I learn one other secret: her camisole is only thigh high.


	3. Secret 3

**A/N: ****Skye, it seemed, wanted a plot, or at least more air-time than I had intended. From here on this story is incomplete. Also dropping the rating to T until Skye decides he wants to make lemonade. ****Might change the title too.**

**First of all, thank you Bip23 and Rosy the Spazz for your reviews, they were just what I needed to motivate me.**

**Please review! They are timber for my creative flames. Who knows, if I get enough reviews you might even get the next chapter early. If not, tune in next Saturday for next chapter!**

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**Secret # 3**:

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Mother is not happy to see me when I arrive. More accurately, Mother is not happy to _not_ see me. Though it has been well over an hour since my departure from Claire's, shadows still cover most of my form, obscuring myself even from−well−myself. Try as I might, I have not been able to stop it.

Understandable, given I did not know I had the ability until now.

Which leads me to my current predicament: Mother is seated across from me in the sitting-room adjoined to my bedchamber, making her displeasure quite clear. It has been over six-minutes since the first tongue-lashing and Mother shows no signs of ceasing. Rather she looks down at me disdainfully. It makes me want to squirm.

"_Skyelynn_," Mother chides, her tone is sharp and imperious, and she looks regal as a queen where she half-lounges on the powder-blue and white, tufted chaise. The lavish nature of the room with its elaborate scroll-work and gilded ceiling only furthers the image. "Desist this at once." As though to punctuate her displeasure she flicks her fan closed, the snap of the black lacquer harsh in the silence. Her gaze on me is penetrating, its force only perpetuated by its unearthly glow.

A fresh wash of fear only deepens my predicament, enshrouding me further in shadows. I struggle again to halt the process.

I do not succeed.

Mother seems to have been waiting for this, for her lips quirk in amusement. "_Skyelynn,"_ she intones as though I were a child, her voice painfully saccharine. My pride stings for a moment, before I recall that I am, very much a child among the fae. Were the situation not so stressing I would laugh.

To think that for one moment I thought as a _human_ might! Surely, it is Claire's influence. She has been making me think very _inappropriate_ thoughts.

"Don't tell you don't know_ how_?" She mocks and her azure eyes shine with a taunting gleam. My pride won't allow me to admit it, much less ask for help, yet to lie to one as old as she is not something done lightly─not for one as unskilled as I.

Grateful for the opening, I comply with her request. "Of course I won't, Mother," I state dutifully. Hopefully she will not press further. Mother, naturally, is not so easily fooled. If anything, her smile grows wider. Feral almost. She loves her games, and I am centuries too young to play them.

"Such a good boy, my Skyelynn. But this will not do. I assume this is the first occurrence?" She queries, reclining further against the gold, decorative cushions. "_Humph!_ _Of course _it is. Now how to return you to your rightful self? Hmm…" She taps the fan against her leg, drawing attention to her dress.

And it is a beautiful dress─one of her favorites actually. Deep red and embroidered with silver thread it provides a startling contrast to her milk pale skin and makes her look even more beautiful─and my mother is a very beautiful woman. With long hair even more silver than mine and eyes of the rich blue of the ocean after a storm, she could pass for a snow goddess. Yet her lips are too pink, her cheeks too flushed for a being so cold. Perpetually young, my mother looks like a maiden in her first spring, all rosy cheeks and starry eyes.

It is a deceptive beauty and a charming one, for beneath that girlish beauty lies a cunning mind and a selfish heart. Something she has demonstrated time and time again as families have been torn and lives lost for the pleasure of her kiss.

As though sensing my thoughts, she smiles coyly, tucking loose pieces of hair behind a pointed ear with exact artifice. "Hmm..I suppose we can exhaust it out of you." She tilts her head, tapping the red fan against her chin, feigning thought. "You haven't trained with Lyrinelle in quite some time. Perhaps it is time you started again?" At the mention of my uncle, my blood chills.

Six feet tall with hair nearly as long, my uncle has the face of an angel and the heart of a devil. Delicate and ephemeral, his is the face that inspires sonnets and paintings of heavenly beings. Indeed, it is a face that _has _inspired such, hailed as he was as god and devil in turn. His eyes are the golden green of the most brilliant of idocrase. His hair a blonde so pale, so pure it is like the innermost center of a fire and equally scorching in its intensity. Were it caught in the sun, it would shine as though spun of metal rather than hair.

Even I must admit his beauty─and I am no lover of men.

Yet all that beauty hides a cruelty incomparable, whether a product of war or nature, my uncle is a vicious creature held back only by an iron sense of honor and the most tentative bonds of affection. In war he is indiscriminate, in battle depraved. No task to him is too bloody, no act profane. He is murderer, torturer, and monster, but little else can be expected of the red rider of the Wild Hunt. He is a sadist in the purest form and no less deadly when "training".

My body aches to think of it. Last we trained he beat me within an inch of my life─and then some. I shudder. I can still remember the feel of his fingers knuckle deep in my stomach and touching things that should never be touched. It was a warning to always be on my guard. Effective,─yes─ but agonizing, and far more ruthless what I should have encountered as a "child". Yet this ruthlessness is exactly what makes him among the strongest of us all.

It is a position Mother would have me occupy.

"No?" She chuckles. Her eyes rove my form, and I can imagine what she sees: a pile of shadows sitting unnervingly on the settee, looking as out of place as I feel. If anything, mention of my uncle has worsened my condition. "Very well then." She sighs as though it were a grievous sacrifice on her part. "It seems we'll have to move up your fire training instead."

My breath stills, my heart missing a beat. This announcement is far from welcome. Fire training isn't common until the 39th year (a sacred number of fire), and when most personal gifts begin to manifest. I move to disagree, but Mother's answering tone is firm. Caelanea is done taunting her errant offspring. She is all seriousness now. Unease churns in my stomach. I would have almost preferred Lyrinelle's tender mercies.

_Almost._

_._

_._

The fire is hot. Blistering hot, and sweat beads on my skin. It has been over an hour and I do not know how much longer I can keep it away from me. Stuck as I am in this shadowy form, its light is as painful as its heat and it is taking all of my concentration to keep it mere feet from me. I would escape if I could, but here in this room there is no escape. For centuries this place has been used to train others to master their magic and it changes according to need.

Right now it is a stark place. All white stone floors and seamless walls with a large open, domed ceiling to allow the escape of smoke. The only exit is beyond the fire, the ceiling is no recourse. Flight is not among the gifts of most _sidhe _and the walls are charmed to be impossible to climb.

Sometimes, I truly hate the magic of faerie.

Pressing on, I focus all my concentration on pooling as much of my magic as possible to push through the flame. It comes to me, sluggishly, rebelliously, unwilling to comply. But this is something all young fae suffer. We are born magic, but that magic is wild. Where witches need only train to focus its use, we must train to use it at all. And even then, our results are far more unpredictable.

I suppose that is why witches are our opposites magically. Their very powers conflict against ours, seizing control of our spells even as we transform their own. We would be enemies still if not for our pact. Now they are our allies─our most precious of all, for they provide us children just as we provide them men. The irony of it all! Yet it makes a twisted sense, that they too, are our opposites in this. Their women are often fertile, but rarely bear males. Our women are rarely fertile, but often bear males.

Fate, it seems, has an interesting sense of humor.

My musings have not helped my cause. The slip in concentration has allowed the fire to advance further, so that I can feel it licking my skin. Surely, if I could see myself now I would be nude. The flames have indubitably consumed my clothing just as they attempt now to consume my flesh. On my neck, the silver talisman burns a brilliant red and it is only its protective magics that keep it from melting into my flesh.

The heat of it is excruciating.

I screech unable to bear it. My lips are cracked, my throat is sore. I am roasting scorching, cooking in flame. Even my healing is a burden. No numbness will find me for its speed. Nerve-endings are repaired, destroyed, renewed again. Each time I feel my flesh burning, blistering, melting before the process is repeated, new skin replacing what was lost. I am growing tired. Dizzy. I fear if this continues any longer I will surely perish. Logic tells me that this is nonsense, that Mother watches patiently beyond my sight, ready to intervene the moment it becomes too much. Instinct cries that it is already too much. That I will be dead before she can lift a finger. That I must fight or flee to survive.

Desperation is a great motivator.

Suddenly, I can feel it. My magic pulsing through me in waves. It no longer is a hesitant, petulant thing, but it comes to me smoothly, as determined to survive as I am. It would be humorous if not for the agony beating through my body in waves. My magic seems to have inherited my personality. And then, as though some veil was lifted from my eyes I understand.

The witches learn to focus. _Focus_: a word that implies control. We as their opposites do not require control. We require to _lose_ it. Only by existing, by feeling, by being the very magic that makes up ourselves can we use that same magic.

I finally understand.

It changes everything and, not only have I freed myself of the fire, I am myself once more. Relief leaves me dizzy and before I realize it, I am howling with laughter as my limbs collapse against the now cool marble floors of the Chamber of Trials.

Just as I suspected I am completely naked.

For some reason I find that deliriously funny.


	4. Secret 4

**A/N: Skye's a little stalker isn't he? Anyway, lots of hints towards the HM world here. **

**Reviews keep me fueled so please REVIEW! Tell me what you like, what you don't, what you think will happen, ect... Also more Claire time? Or just enough?**

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**Secret # 4:**

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I awake dazed and disoriented. Peering out beneath silvery lashes, it takes me a few moments before I recognize the pale blue of the curtains and the cerulean of the sheets. I am no longer in the Chamber of Trials, but in my bed at home. I sit up, expecting pain, and am surprised to find none. Young as I am, expending such magic as I had is sure to strain me, and I wonder how long I must have slept to have awakened so renewed.

Grasping the gold tassel to my right, I decide to find out as I pull open the curtains, exposing myself to the light of day. I wince at the sudden light, looking out into the vastness of room. My chambers are a study in blues accented with gold, white, and touches of black, and my bedroom is no exception. An oval mirror greets me from across the room, its gilded frame contrasting the light blue damask of the walls. I can see myself faintly in its reflection, my hair mused, and my skin reddened as though from sunburn. Thankfully, a calling mirror it is not, and I may rise at my leisure.

Yet the view of my reddened skin has reminded me of the fires and my own consuming thirst. Turning, I look towards the dark wood, bedside table, finding that a tray with a pitcher of water and a pair of cups has been thoughtfully placed there, one rests face-down on a hand-towel. Gratefully I lean over to pour myself a cup, the water cool and sweet to my parched throat. Once satisfied, I turn my attention back to the second cup, noticing for the first time the pink imprint across its delicate glass rim.

Mother must have been here, I theorize, and indeed, taking a careful sniff, I can only just make out the distinct scent of her perfume among the stronger scents of aloe, calendula, and comfrey. Lilies with an undertone of something sweet and tart like currants. It makes the presence of the white ottoman conspicuous, and I wonder how many hours had she sat here and watched me as I slept? I touch my skin, finding it slick. How many times had she come in and rubbed aloe and compresses into my wounds and dribbled water into my mouth?

Such a strange being my mother. Cold and callous in one moment, incomparably sweet and loving the next, but I suppose it comes with age. She has lived long, seen much, and lost much. "Love", she would say when I would go to her wounded and weeping after training, "keeps you happy, but power keeps you alive. I would rather have you live." I cannot agree with her thinking, but nor can I fault it. Those who are powerless do not survive long among the _sidhe. _

My musings bring up another thought: how long had she waited for me to wake?

It turns my attention back to my previous concern: the time. Rubbing at the stiffness of my neck, I turn my head towards the windows. The drapes are pulled back exposing them, great floor-to-ceiling arches that offer an uninterrupted view outside. The sun hangs high above the western moors indicating it is still early in the afternoon. Unusual, as I had expected to sleep well into the night. I shrug off the thought, and slip out of bed, gooseflesh rising as my skin comes in contact with the cool air. I am standing before the window nude, completely unconcerned. Other than to guard from the chill, I feel no need dress. My body is as beautiful as my face, and such beauty is worthy of admiration.

I wish Claire could see me now. Surely she would never so much as look at another male once presented with my perfection. Then she would be fully mine to play with. Yet I am glad too, she is not here. A chase is sweet and submission would not please me half as much. I want to unravel her in pieces, savoring each discovery before moving on to the next. It is rare to find someone so interesting.

Hunger spurs me to movement, and I do dress eventually, ignoring the antiquated clothes set aside for me in favor of the silk shirts and colored pants I have become so fond of. They are "idol" clothes, worn only by human men considered so attractive they have legions of worshippers.

And I am worthy of such worship.

The halls are empty as I pass through the west wing of the manor home to mother and I, and into the shared spaces. Neflinne, a dryad, is the first inhabitant I meet as she exits the kitchen with a small trolley.

She, like most dryads has hair as green as the leaves of the tree she descended from and skin the rich gold of honey. They are a gentle race, the dryads, and among the weakest of us, for in the human realm they are tied to the trees much as minor deities are tied to their shrines. A dryad without her tree is as good as dead. Few survive, and the few that do become the greenhags haunting the forests they once protected and blighting crops. It is a fate few desire. Still they are prized among us for their beauty and their skill with plants.

"My lord!" she exclaims. Her voice is sweet and soft like the wind. She bows hastily, her verdant hair tumbling over her shoulders and gives me a saucy wink. "I was just about to bring you some food. I thought you might be hungry."

"Indeed." I remark and smile flirtatiously, knowing she is expects it. She is a pretty little thing, all sleek curves and long limbs. Her eyes are the pink of plum blossoms and her breasts are temptingly pert and full. She returns the smile with more heat. Hunger, I suspect, is only an excuse. More likely, she had wished to catch me yet in bed. My presence here has changed her approach. Yet, I am not interested in sex. Not now. Not with her.

"I am quite hungry actually," I tease, knowing what she will think, "but I would like to prepare something of my own. Perhaps my Mother would be more accepting?" Her smile stiffens, and I smirk. Her greed has made her an easy target, and it is not every day I can best someone as old as she.

"Of course, my lord." She agreed sweetly, too sweetly as she takes her leave, her footsteps sharp against the white marble floors. I have irritated her, but that is to be expected. What form of retaliation will await me? Noodles in my curry? Potions in my bath? Nothing particularly harmful of course. Not only am I still a "child", I am _sidhe_, and unmerited harm against me can lead to severe punishment. Still, I shall have to tread carefully if I wish to keep my vanity intact.

The kitchen is mostly empty. Rows of stoves lay quiet and the dark stone tabletops are bereft of the chaos that usually hides them. Only Rilla, the cook, and her apprentice remain. Brownies, the both of them, fae known for their skill at housework. They are short, standing only four feet tall with large inky eyes in a face too small and narrow to hold them. It gives them an insect-like look only furthered by their tiny noses and pointed teeth. A connoisseur of the exotic might find them captivating. To me they are beautiful females, yes, but not to my tastes. I am fond of far paler skin than their tawny brown−−skin like Claire's.

"Milord!" They both exclaim, pausing in their work. A sack full of vegetables lies the countertop, leaning drunkenly against the granite wall. Maddie in particular seems shocked, dropping the potato she had been peeling; Rilla reprimands her. Their reaction is oddly enthusiastic. Is something wrong, I ponder? Glancing down, I confirm that I am neither nude nor sporting any unseemly appendage to cause such reactions (something I feared, given Neflinne's ire).

"It's a been three days, milord!" Rilla states, ushering me into a seat. Numb, I allow her. "We ere worried ye would'na be waking, sleepin as deeply as ye did." Three days? I have spent over three days in faerie? This is not good! How long has it been in the human realm? Only three days? Four? A week?

Time runs oddly in faerie. Between courts one day could be easily three and an hour mere minutes. The differences are more remarkable when crossing into the human realm. While the Witch Pact has done much to force us to move in time with them, the hours still run faster or slower between realms. The tricky part is in figuring out which will hold true and when.

Thankfully, more than a week rarely passes between the realms now.

Still, the thought of losing a week (or Goddess help me a month!) with my Claire is disturbing.

"Is the food not to your liking, milord?" Maddie asks with concern.

Lost in my thought, I have failed to realize that Maddie has set down food before me. Curry to be exact: yellow curry. It is one of my favorites, though flavor is never quite right. Neither I nor my servants can match the exquisite flavors I tasted all those years ago as a small boy sneaking into the human realm. It must have been a foreign land. I've yet to find a match in taste within the human towns and cities lying near our barrows, nor have I seen the strange beasts I saw that day.

It must have rained. Rarely does the entrance to faerie shift and no other time does it shift such great distances─not unless it is the monarch's will. In this patch of faerie, that often means Great-Grandmother. Please do not be mistaken, she is not our monarch. She is a _Ylessa,_ a title equivalent to that of a human duchess. Simply put, these barrows can be coaxed by her will and disputes settled by her judgment.

Realizing they are still awaiting my response, I take a bite. As expected, the curry falls short. Whether it is my own ill humor or a flaw in its make, the dish is weak and lacking in flavor. Had I cooked as I intended it would have been more savory (though not the exquisiteness I desire). Someday that will change. Still I eat. How could I not, when they look at me with such happiness, their lips stretched in smiles so wide they nearly reach their dark hair?

" 'Ere now, all fed and grown strong?" Rilla chimes when I am done, taking my plate and patting my back. With anyone else, it would have been an insult, this far too familiar treatment, but Rilla has cared for me for as long as I can remember. "Maddie!" She orders without waiting for my reply, "Get our princeling some'tin more ta eat! And do nae forget the wine!"

I stand. "It's alright," I say, patting her arm affectionately. "I am no longer hungry." I take a drink of the water instead, enjoying its coolness. "Thank you Rilla," I add, maneuvering past Maddie who is carrying over more plates, "Thank you, Maddie," and I sweep out of the room.

000

Luck is not on my side. Where before the halls were empty, now they bustle with the coming and going of servants, and I am stopped multiple times to receive well-wishing and solicitations. Now that I have gained in power, there seem to be more and more ladies eager for my attentions. Pity I am in a rush. There is a blonde that seems promising, and I have been quite interested in blondes of late.

Beyond the main halls, my trek is uninhibited, and I make it past the foyer and into the gardens before Great-Grandmother and Mother find me. Standing together, a human might think them twins, how similar do they look, but closer inspection will reveal many differences. Great-Grandmother's hair is darker, almost pewter, her skin tinted with the faintest touch of blue, and her eyes are a vivid amethyst that match the gown she wears today.

Only humans could make such a mistake. While Great-Grandmother is as indisputably beautiful as most _sidhe_, hers is a harsher, colder beauty that calls to mind the chill of winter when the trees are kissed with snow and ice hangs from them like glittering ornaments. It is a beauty well-suited to the woman who was once worshiped as _Cailleach. _

"Skyelynn!" Mother greets, and, as she approaches, I must fight to beat down my irritation and maintain the court-face I have begun to learn. "Where are you off to in such a rush?" Her tone is chiding, but her eyes are bright as she pulls me by the hand, absorbing every detail of my appearance. "Not even greeting your poor mother and her grandmother! I did not raise you to such rudeness!"

"Apologies Mother, Great-Grandmother." I bow and take the latter's hand for a kiss. "Great-Grandmother," I comment. "You look exceptionally lovely. Lovely enough to make a young man forget his manners."

Her laugh is brisk and sharp. "Save the flattery, child. It is wasted on one such as I." Her gaze becomes assessing as she looks at me, and I suppress the urge to shift nervously.

The sun where it is beating against my back is becoming uncomfortably hot and I hope she is not insulted by my attire. Great-Grandmother is unusually fond of the styles of the old Gallic human monarchy and the entire manor shows it modeled as it is after a great human palace. I prefer modern fare. It is simpler yet more elegant. After a moment, however she nods, satisfied by whatever she sees, and I feel myself let go of the breath I did not know I held.

"You have grown stronger. I am pleased." She remarks, fingers idly tracing the contours of a lilac rose. "I was worried your blood would be weak given your unnatural fascination with the human realm." Her fingers press against petals, leaving them bruised from her grip. Those luminous eyes grant me their full force, rooting me to the spot as her magic washes over me. "I am glad to see this is not the case." A sneer curls on her as I grow more and more discomforted, the vastness of her power drowning me in it. "Go," she orders, waving me away. "Return to the _humans _you so love. I've kept you here long enough."

Great-Grandmother can be frightening, and, indeed, should be feared. I am glad when a few moments later she turns away from, dismissing me fully to respond to my now protesting mother. Grateful, I bid a hasty goodbye, giving my still-scowling mother a quick peck on the cheek, and rush towards the exit to our manor. I am in the town a moment later, flashed there by the magic of the gates.

Around me, the streets are lively, filled with lesser fae and witches come to sell and buy wares. Merchant stalls stand in lines together away from the shops and taverns, and a magnificent fountain of white marble and cascading roses decorates the center of the square. It is a fascinating study in color as the exotic hues of our hair and eyes compete with the glow of potions for sale and iridescent, shimmering fabrics.

Yet I do not have time to enjoy the bustle. My lady calls and every moment spent here could be a decade lost. I push on forward, weaving through the throng. An exit to the mounds lies only a mile from the eastern gate. I make good time, breaking free of the crowd, when a jewelry stall catches my eye. Unlike the rest it is not in the main square, but tucked in a corner on an adjoining street. Before I know it, my feet are leading me there, and the proprietor's yellow eyes peer at me knowingly from beneath his hood.

"Sssee anything you like?" He hisses, and I realize why this man is tucked away. He is part snake demon and considered an aberration for it. What I had mistaken for skin is actually scales and the teeth I glimpse are hooked fangs. I pity him. His lack of beauty has surely made him the target of much cruelty. But, what he may lack in his flesh is clear in his work.

Finely detailed and radiant, his jeweled crafts thrum with a power that is almost alive. They are magnificent, and I realize he must be a stone singer, a gift rare even among the _sidhe_. Which house must have sired him? My suspicions lie with Aeraeviel. Few houses carry such gifts. My eyes narrow, assessing.

If I could look beneath his grey hood, would I find their signature amaranth hair? Curiosity burns, but self preservation stills my hand. Those nails are surely venomous. Instead, I turn my attention back to his work. I pick one up, a ruby ring circled with onyx stones, examining it.

"A fine choisssse," he praises, "that one bindssss your enemiessss for an hour. Popular amongssst the ladiesss."

Useful. Very useful. Intrigued, I pick up another, a pair of earrings set with sapphires as blue as Claire's eyes. "And this one?"

"Ahh. That one regainsss your ssstrength. Very nissse. "

"How much?" I inquire holding them both towards him and his eyes gleam with hunger. Indubitably, the price he will name will be high, far too high, but I have neither the patience nor time to haggle now.

"200 aurimsss." He exclaims and I wince inwardly, but pass him the coins. 200 aurims are easily equivalent to 280,000 G's. Luckily, for me, money is no object.

As I depart, ring on my finger and earrings in my pocket, one thought runs clear through my mind: will Claire like them?


	5. Secret 5

**A/N: And Claire finally makes an appearance! Tell me what you think of her character! I'm finding it a bit challenging developing other characters in first person. Suggestions in more character/relationship building scenes also appreciated!**

**Many thanks to Harvestmoonlovee, xXxTinklesxXx, and bip23 especially for the reviews! **

**Review! The faster I know what I'm doing right, the more chapters you get!**

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**Secret #5:**

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Balmy air greets me when I arrive and, around me, the forest is rich and verdant with plant life. Flowers stand gaily where buds had been before and the earth is dressed in shades of lavender and white. It is beautiful, but I am too disturbed to properly appreciate that beauty. This close to faerie, the plants can grow exceptionally quick, but even this is too much for a handful of days.

Again, I ponder, just how long have I been away?

The answer seems more and more discouraging. The trudge through the forest, while short, is painful. All around me lies evidence of the passing of time and it is an amount too great for my liking. There are flowers deep into bloom that were only starting before and berries beginning to form where there had been flowers. Even the insect life seems doubled, though, I fear in my anxiety, I am prone to exaggeration.

Reaching the valley does little to settle my nerves. The streets look much the same as they had before, though now its inhabitants have shed their sweaters and sleeves for t-shirts and flowing dresses. I meet one of them on my way down, a dark-haired man who works at Vesta's farm. Marlin, I think his name was. He does not see me as I pass him by─or rather the figure he does see is any but my own.

The figure I have chosen is that of a podgy, thirty-something man with swarthy skin, and pitch black hair dressed in a red checkered shirt and jeans. Completely unattractive, and equally unnoticeable, this man is as far from my princely self as could be. It pleases me immensely. I could not have attempted such a feat before the fire trials. Now my form is so perfect, I have tricked even myself, my body believing itself much shorter, much rounder, than it is.

Heading into the center of town, my glamour is put to the test. Half the village appears to be on the streets enjoying the warmth of the day. Many are strolling leisurely in the afternoon sun stopping only to greet a friend, before continuing on their way. Others have begun pairing off and fitting themselves into unknown spaces. Lumina is one of these, albeit reluctantly. That boor, Rock is seated next to her, teasing her mercilessly and she is too polite to stop his attentions. I pass by them purposely, smiling as their eyes flick up at me quickly and dismiss me just as quick.

Yes, I am most definitely stronger.

None of this tells me how much time has passed, however, and I am growing more impatient by the minute. Are we even yet in April, I wonder? Or have we passed into May? June? My throat burns to ask, but I do not wish to arouse their suspicions. The less attention drawn to me, the better. I am not in the mood to engage in human courtesies.

The bar proves an excellent solution. Styled between a saloon and a pub, the establishment appears to serve both food and drink, and I am sure somewhere there must be some board featuring the date. Walking in and sliding into one of the stools, I find I am only partially correct. There is no board as I expected but a worn-out menu instead. I grab it, opening to the handwritten specials page stuffed into the back. Across the top it reads "_Wednesday, May 7"._

"Hi there," a voice greets, and I vaguely notice that the barmaid has come in from the back. "Sorry for the wait. We don't get much traffic around now. Whatcha having?" She is waiting for an answer, but I am beyond caring. My eyes are instead plastered to the menu, my heart sunk to lie somewhere in my stomach.

Twelve days. It has been twelve days since I last entered faerie. Not four days, or six, not even a week, but twelve days! The knowledge is astounding. Impossible. Ridiculous. Not once in over two-thousand years has such an extreme variation existed between our realms. Surely High Queen Ariannis would not have slowed our cycle?

Abruptly it hits me. Great-Grandmother! Only Great-Grandmother could persuade the portal to our _sithen_ change its time. How stupid I am! How foolish! How young! How could I have missed her deliberate taunt? Me?! A prince of the _sidhe_, falling for a trick that even a human could catch!

I should have travelled through a different gate.

I should have not stopped at the market.

I should have never returned home at all.

One thing is certain: I will not be returning to the _sithen_ anytime soon.

"Hey, you okay?" Blonde hair swings into my line of sight. The barmaid, it seems has been waiting for some time and is concerned with my lack of response.

Leaning my head in my hands, I sigh. All energy has drained from me. I barely have any left to speak. "I'm okay." I echo. "Just peachy." The barmaid, Muffy, her nametag reads, is not convinced and continues regarding me skeptically for a few moments, before she too sighs.

"Fine then," she relents, leaning a hip on the bar. "What can I get you?" I point somewhere on the menu, uncaring. Muffy has to lean over to read and as she does I am given full view of her breasts down the low neckline of her dress. I barely notice. "A dark and stormy coming up!"

I don't know what a dark and stormy is, but I'm not inclined to care. Regardless, I am enlightened soon enough as she sets a drink I hadn't wanted in the first place before me. I take a sip. Spicy and a little bitter. Not bad.

I still don't want it.

"That'll be 50G." She announces, satisfied now that my lips have touched the glass. I sight louder, rubbing my forehead with a heavy hand. It startles me for a moment, that hand. Sitting here, I had forgotten I was so thoroughly glamoured. A good thing, I surmise, given a lesser one might have fallen the moment I learned the date. Perhaps, I should have simply left after all. Now I have another problem to contend with: I have no human money.

I could attempt to pay her with fae coins, but I doubt it would do much good. More likely she would think them toys or counterfeits. A trick then. Usually it would please me, but just now the thought of doing anything is unappealing. Still, I reach into my pocket, thumbing a lose thread and pull it free. With a little concentration, it now feels and looks like a 50G note. I pass it to her. She smiles happily and places it in the cash register.

Humans. How easy to fool. How will she feel an hour later when the spell is gone? Will she think it a mistake? Or will she recall this incident and discern that she was tricked by a fae?

I doubt it. A few millennia of separation has made them soft. Already they have forgotten the days we walked freely among them. Now they think us fables. Even in these pockets of civilization the fae seem improbable where witches and gods do not. How ignorant they are. How pretentious. Are there not dragons in the far east? Are there not elves yet living amongst them in the northern lands?

But those places are guarded places. These humans cannot even see them, lacking in magic as they are. They cannot even differentiate among their own those who share our bloodlines from those who do not.

Imbeciles, the lot of them.

_Claire would be an imbecile too then, _a voice pipes. I quash it down, taking a long swallow of my drink. No! Claire is not like them. It is ignorance that keeps her from the truth rather than any stupidity. _But they're just ignorant too, _the voice reasons.I scowl. Even my mind is against me today!

As if to taunt me further, I see him. Griffin. I scowl. I don't know what Claire sees in him to stop by so frequently. He is as dirty and unkempt as always. His black hair is lank and greasy, his face dark with stubble, and his clothes are stained with sweat and other things. It is the look of a man who cares little for his appearance though I know it must be otherwise. I have snuck in before to snoop, and the man has a collection of scented bottles and creams in his bathroom to rival that of the girl, Muffy. His clothes too are typically neat and fresh, though nearly identical in their make. Toiling over a stove all day is more likely the culprit than poor hygiene.

Still, here and now, I cannot take the sight of him. Whether it is his appearance or thought of how close he may have become to Claire in my absence, I do not know. What I do know, is that I must leave. Now.

Sunlight stabs painfully at me and I squint as my eyes adjust to the light. Given the sun's position it must be edging five in the afternoon, still hours too early to chance wandering in my more natural form. That is not excuse not to wander, though. I am well glamoured and there is still plenty to explore. Yet I am tired, emotionally if not physically, and the idea holds no appeal. Instead, it is solitude I crave, and the cool quiet to gather my thoughts.

The Goddess Lake then. It is the only place I can think of that suits. Swathed as it is in magic, no simple human could disturb me there. The fact that Claire can bear its magic to visit me in the evenings, cheers me. It affirms Claire is no mere human.

The grove is as dazzling as always when I arrive. Perpetually spring, flowers and crystal-like growths circle the borders of a pristine lake. Above it a might oak spans stories over the clearing. Even at this distance, I can sense the power of the deity pervading this place. It tugs at my glamour questioningly as I enter the grove, and I let go of the illusion with a quiet sigh. Fully myself, I amble towards the lake, smiling as the strange, crystals dip toward me in reaction to my magic.

Just as before, I sense no deity in this lake. My fingers, where they caress the water leave only ripples on its surface. The only magic here are remnants of the Harvest Goddess' power. Wherever she resides, it is not here, and this lake is but a portal to another place. It reminds me of the mirrors of faerie, and indeed, this may be what they mimic. It prompts the question if I touched this with power would it too allow me to pass into that place? Or would it only serve to summon the deity it is attached to? Had I more time, I would find out, but I have lost enough of it in faerie. As human as she is, Claire may not see far past a century.

Every moment is precious.

I have been dozing, high in the boughs of the oak, when I hear it. Footsteps picking tentatively through the foliage, mindful of the rocks and branches scattered in the way. I peer down through the canopy of green leaves, one clear blue eye spotting her. Claire. Claire has arrived at the lake and is looking around furtively. What is it she spies for? No creature could harm her in this place. Whatever it is, she looks disappointed as she seats herself on a boulder by the water, moonlight turning her hair a quicksilver. Perhaps…she is searching for me?

The thought of it warms my heart. Weeks of absence have not removed the memory of me from her mind. _Maybe_… a voice inside me offers _she is fascinated by me too. _I sniff. Of course she must be. What man has she met half as unique? Not the men of this village, surely or even the next! I am superior to them all.

Renewed, my mischievous side has returned to the fore, and I slip down silently, using all of my skills both inherent and acquired to sneak up behind her. I am close enough to touch her when I call, "_Hello_ beautiful maiden."

She spins, so fast she flails wildly for a moment before righting herself. She looks at me first in confusion, then recognition. Her cerulean eyes brighten as her mind confirms what she sees.

"Skye?" She breathes softly as though she cannot believe what she is seeing. "Skye! Are you okay?" She reaches for me, grasping my arms as she inspects my features. "Where have you been−" Her cheeks flush and she trails off, embarrassed at her reaction. I grin, and she looks away, removing her hands from me abruptly. Her fingers fiddle with the buckle of her bag, pointedly avoiding my gaze.

"Miss me?" I chuckle.

Her gaze flickers to me, and she bites her lip. "I thought that you−," She stutters, "I mean I worried−," She growls, frustrated. "I mean−I was afraid─_Arg_! Forget it!"

My laughter intensifies, and it only serves to irritate her more. She huffs, leaning away from my nearness and fishes through her bag. I raise an eyebrow, inquiringly. What will she do now?

Claire so rarely reacts as I expect her to. A unique girl indeed.

"Lost something?" I smirk, hovering over her to try and peek into her bag. She pushes me away playfully. "I haven't stolen it, I promise."

"Here." She thrusts a parcel to me, wrapped sloppily in a pale-pink handkerchief. "Take it and stop stealing!" I take it, fingers tracing a line of stitches in a darker hue. This time she raises a brow, arms crossed defiantly in front of her, though I can tell she isn't angry. _Oh no no_! My precious Claire is painfully embarrassed and it is making her defensive. "Well?" Claire prompts. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Carefully, more carefully than required I undo the string holding it together. Inside lies a necklace smudged still with dirt, a smoky gem set as the pendant. Quartz most likely. A gift. It warms me. Claire has gotten me a gift. I touch my fingers to it, committing its coolness to memory, thumbing the chinked grooves of the silver chain. Claire seems embarrassed at my scrutiny and she forces my hands closed. Electricity arches between us, and she jumps away as though shocked.

"There," she comments lamely, even more anxious than before, "Now you won't need to steal."

I cannot help it. Incredulous, a peal of laughter escapes me. Claire. Oh Claire. Only you could give a gift and use it as theft-deterrent!

"Ah, but my lovely maiden this is not enough for a thief like me." I purr coyly. "I'll need something more…_substantial_."

"Then I'll get you more!" She replies hastily. I cock a brow, amused. Then, looking like a stricken doe, she shakes her head wildly. "No! No! Not like _that_!" She protests. "I mean I'll get you more stuff. Jewelry. Bracelets. That sort of stuff. Not.. not… you _know_…"

Claire is extremely flushed now, and trembling with nervousness. It is terribly endearing.

"Hmm," I tap stroke my chin as though in deep thought, "I'll hold you to it." I smirk, then tease. "I can hardly wait to see what gifts you bring me. Hopefully, they'll be enough to _satisfy_."

She shivers at the innuendo, but feigns ignorance. "Does that mean you'll stop stealing then?" She inquires hopefully, peering at me from beneath her lashes. She is such an honest little thing, so set in her morals. It reminds of the first time we had this conversation almost three months ago. Granted she had been brandishing a hoe then.

"Perhaps," I evade. "We shall see."

She pouts and rolls her eyes, yet she isn't surprised. This is an old song and dance between us, and it is only her stubbornness that keeps her trying. "Fine! Just don't let me find out you got caught or rotting in prison will be the least of your problems!"

What cheek! Ah, but I can see the concern lingering in her eyes. I suddenly feel ashamed. In all this time not once had I imagined she would be concerned. Confused, perhaps. Relieved, maybe. But never worried.

How silly I am. To think I was more worried that she would find herself a lover in my absence than actually miss me! I have completely underestimated her. I had thought she followed me each night out of interest, perhaps attraction, or some delusion that doing so would keep her neighbors safe from my thieving hands. Never had I imagined she actually had grown to care.

It puts our many meetings into a new perspective. I can't help but question how many evenings she stood in this very spot waiting for my arrival? How many did it take before she gave up? Or is her presence here proof that she never did?

Realization causes a strange stirring in my breast. A sort of confused tightness that is something like attraction. I swallow, watching her where she now stands looking out towards the lake.

This new secret is dangerous. The knowledge doubly so.

My fascination is threatening to develop into something more.


	6. Secret 6

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. FF net wasn't allowing my login. As a treat I'll be posting a side-story/extra about Claire called First Impressions so keep an eye out for it. **

**Such a volatile couple aren't they? And Skye's as capricious as ever. More Claire time in this chapter so tell me what you think!**

**And remember review!**

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**Secret # 6**

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She is a sweet girl, my Claire. For all her posturing and reproach, she is a gentle soul devoid of true violence and true hatred. There is no pretense to her, no deceit. She simply is as she is with no hidden motivations. It is a novelty: her innocence. Refreshing. Something unheard of among the fae, for such innocence is soon lost. We are a feral race of lethal beings, each jockeying for a place of power and a territory of our own. Even the most benign of us are capable of incredible fury and will willingly destroy anything that proves a threat to our own lives.

But then, we are not human and not subject to human morality.

We are predators of the highest sort, bound by the bonds of honor, etiquette, and strictest of laws. Survival is most definitely of the fittest, and the weak will either gain in power or find some sponsor to shelter them. And shelter them we do, for despite our feral nature we are both extremely possessive and extremely protective of what we claim as ours.

It is a different sense of morality, if it can be called such.

Standing here, thumbing the necklace she has gifted me, I realize, Claire is very much becoming mine. Of course, she doesn't know it yet. In her human naivety she thinks herself independent, owned solely by herself, she does not realize the complex web that has begun weaving itself around her. A web she has only strengthened with her gift. It almost makes me laugh. Not only has she given me necklace─something to be worn─she has given it to me with the intention to provide for me. Among the fae such an act would be considered a sign of the intention to court. My body shakes with repressed mirth. What would she do if she knew she has very clearly propositioned me?

I do not enlighten her to this fact, as amusing as her reaction will be. I do not want to drive her away. Instead I merely continue smiling at her as we settle before the lake as we have done many nights before.

"So…" The blonde begins, one foot nudging the dirt nervously. "Where did you disappear to for so long?" Her voice grows bolder, teasing. "Not terrorizing little old ladies, I hope?"

I chuckle. "No. Nothing of the sort. If anything I was the one being terrorized."

Claire snorts. "Nothing you didn't deserve I imagine."

This time I glare at the affront, my amusement quickly diminishing under a wash of ire. "Don't presume you know anything about I do or don't deserve." My eyes narrow dangerously, and the maiden takes a step back, the temperature suddenly dropping.

"Sorry," she apologizes hastily, still taken aback. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was just teasing."

"Teasing?" I inquire, stalking forward as she treads backwards, fear beginning to rise in her eyes. Her back hits the trunk of the oak tree, and she swallows harshly. "Oh no, dearest. Don't lie to me. You weren't teasing." My hand slaps against the wood, my body caging hers. "You think I deserved whatever happened to me. You think I deserve to _suffer_." The last comes out a growl and she shivers finely. Her eyes are wide now, intimidated by how I have invaded her space, yet even as I watch she steels herself, mustering courage.

"You're wrong. " She croaks. "I don't want you to suffer, Skye. You might be a criminal, but you're a good person." She admits, her tone strengthening as I lose some of my tension and her fear begins to ease. "All this time you could have hurt me. You could have hurt any of us, but you haven't. Instead you stand here night after night, chatting with me. Teasing me. Not stealing or killing or anything bad. And…" Those pale cheeks color. "I like talking to you. You're way too flirty sometimes, and half the time I want to hit you with my hoe, but… it's fun." Her white, white teeth worry at her lip, leaving it red and full, and my gaze is riveted to it. "I don't want to see you hurt."

The admission destroys the last vestiges of my ire. Instead the feeling is being replaced with something warm and light. I ease off. Pushing away from the tree to leave her there slightly stunned. "Thank you, Claire." I reply, unsure of this feeling rising in my breast. "And…" I offer a smile, a bit more solemnly than normal. "I'm sorry for frightening you. Such a beautiful maiden as yourself doesn't deserve to have her lovely face marred with fear."

Claire blinks then rights herself, skirting my presence as we once again come to stand by the lake. A shy smile has replaced her frightened expression and I feel whatever tension remained begin to ease. "Apology accepted. Just try not to do that again, okay" Her eyes catch mine, and she tilts her head slightly, an almost feline expression.

"I'll try not to." My eyes catch hers and I smile a little goofily. "I like you too, Claire. You're very entertaining."

She pouts, indignant, but her eyes shine. "Entertaining? What do you mean by that? What's so entertaining about me?" She demands, crossing her arms as she is wont to do.

I laugh. "Everything. The way you blush when I tease you, your irritation when I go too far. Or the way your voice rises when you're nervous. You're very fun to play with my dear."

"Hey!" She protests, kicking a stray stone at me. "Now you're just being mean! I'm not some toy for you to play with!"

"Ha ha! Yes! Exactly that! That is what I find so entertaining about you! All timid one moment, all fire the next!" My eyes are alight with amusement. She is darling this one, and far too cute for her own good.

"Glad you find me funny." She drawls sarcastically then rolls her eyes. "Crazy thief," she mutters, turning away from me to stare at the sky. The moon hangs in a slender crescent, its feeble light reflected in the waters of the lake. A long moment passes between us, the silence oddly comfortable. "It's so beautiful here." Claire breathes. "In the city I could never see the stars. Now, I can see so many of them. It's like a whole different universe."

I lift a brow, staring at her, but she does not notice, enthralled as she is by the night sky. "What was it like, in the city?" I inquire, curious. Despite having heard much of those places, I have not yet ever stepped within a human city, and the tempting glances through Mother's scrying mirror cannot compare with experience.

"What was it like?" She repeats, her tone growing wistful. "It was always busy, and time was always rushing." Her gaze loses a little focus. "Everyone was always going one place or another. No one stopped by to visit or walked just because they wanted to. Nothing like it is here." She chuckles. "I swear, time seems to run slower here, though I know it can't be true." Her fingers play with a lock of hair, twisting it as her gaze seems to look beyond the stars towards some faraway place. "People aren't as friendly, and the air is always heavy with smog. At night you can barely see the moon, and everything is built in shades of grey." Claire shakes her head, and smiles mockingly, as though recalling some joke only she recalls. "I never realized how grey it was until I came here. Now I think I'd find it depressing, the lack of color."

"Sounds boring." I comment, unable to imagine enjoying such a place.

"No," she shakes her head. "Not boring. Just different. There were lots of trees at least in Beormingaam. Made it a bit more colorful than Londin. But there was always plenty to do. Classes to go to, work to complete. Movies, plays, and concerts to see. Restaurants to dine in… There were so many things and so many people, sometimes I think I'm dreaming being here. It's _that _different…"

Hmm. Her tone seems oddly longing. "You seem to have liked it," I remark.

"Yes," is the instant reply. "I loved it." And I can tell. Her tone is rich with affection and remembered warmth. It makes me faintly jealous. "There was so much to do. So much to see. I could live there a hundred years and never know it all."

"So.." I prod. "Why don't you go back?"

"Oh!" Claire seems startled, and she toes the dirt again, her hands playing with the buckle of her rucksack. My question has made her anxious. Very anxious for her to display so many nervous habits. "I can't."

"Can't?" This is strange. "Something forces you to remain here?" The thought of anyone or anything being able to force Claire into doing anything seems ridiculous. She is quite the stubborn maiden, and though she has shown a marked lack of conviction towards certain topics, and a tendency to dither, she cannot be swayed to do something she does not wish to do.

"Oh no!" She corrects, shaking her head to emphasize her disagreement. Her expression fallen, just a tad. "I'm doing better here." She sighs, her voice growing somber. "I was always sick in the city, constantly missing school." Claire looks at me, her face suddenly looking fragile in the moonlight. "I always felt better here. When…" Her voice trails and she swallows harshly. "When Dad died, someone needed to take care of the farm. I volunteered."

She sighs, her body giving a slight tremble, and suddenly I am feeling guilty for prompting this conversation. I open my mouth to protest, but she speaks before I utter a sound.

"Jack and Jill, my brother and sister," she continues "were too young, just starting high school actually, and Uncle Rob lives with his wife in Éire…" The wind whips at her hair, surrounding her in a halo of silvery-gold. "It seemed best. Mom wasn't happy about it, but it felt right to come. I like it here and..."

Her gaze becomes riveted again on the sky, and the wind hides her expression from me. Something in her stance pulls at me, causing me to take a step forward, then another, until I am standing next to her rather than the few feet that had been between us before. A twinkle of light catches my attention, and I follow it, realizing she is crying. I reach for her, my hand resting gently on her arm. She looks at it, then at me, and smiles shakily.

"I'm sorry, Skye. I shouldn't be bothering you with this. You'r─"

"Hush." I silence her, resting a finger on her lips so quickly, she inhales sharply in shock. My heart twists unpleasantly. This night has been proving far more emotional than I desired. I am unaccustomed to feeling such a diverse range of emotions in such a short span of time, and Claire, it seems, is no different. "Your eyes are too fair for tears. Your skin too fine to diminish its radiance with sorrow." I cup her cheek, and she stills, a myriad of thoughts flashing within the deep blue of her eyes.

Gently, so gently, I brush her hair from her face, exposing the perfect lobes of her ears. My lips quirk, and suddenly, I know exactly what to do, my left hand digging within the pocket of my jeans for prize hidden there. I lift it slowly, allowing my magic to leak only just a bit so that her gaze grows slightly unfocused, her body slightly less tense. Carefully, I place first one earring, then the other into those lobes and my maiden lets me, entranced as she is by my magic. With a final caress of her cheek, I step back, admiring how the sapphires compliment her own remarkable eyes.

"Beautiful," I exhale.

Just as I thought, they suit her.


	7. Secret 7

**A/N: Thank you again xXx Tinkies xXx for your review! Considering the events of last chapter, I expected a lot more feedback, maybe I should do evil cliff-hangers instead. **

**Anyway, if you haven't checked it out yet, check out First Impressions. It describes Claire and Skye's first heart event and gives more insight into her character. **

**Without further ado, enjoy!**

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**Secret # 7**

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Living like a human is hard. Much harder than I had imagined. Each day has been a trial and a lesson in one. That first night was the easiest. Slipping back into town, I managed to catch the boy Rock before he locked up. Leaves charmed as money purchased my way into the inn with a fine room and some dinner to boot. The stir it caused in the morning was absolutely delightful, but far too risky to attempt again so soon. Still, the sight of Ruby vehemently berating her "waffle-headed" son made it tempting. So very tempting.

Claire's gift to me the next night paid part of my stay the second day, though some thieving was required to close the gap (if Griffin looks closely he might notice himself a bottle short of wine, though I doubt he will−their bookkeeping is lamentable). The third and fourth days were more thrilling as I snuck into a lesser used room of the mansion to sleep. Getting up in time to escape notice was especially fun.

The fifth day was more of a challenge. The inn was unexpectedly full, too full even for a stowaway. Visitors queued out the door eager to guarantee their spot in some animal festival. It made for easy pick-pocketing, though it did not help my cause. The mansion, similarly, was not an option filled with guests as it was, and I resigned myself to sleeping in the boughs of the great oak tree.

All this, of course, has not touched on the matter of food. There are no servants here to prepare my meals, and no kitchen of my own. I nicked the first few meals from Ruby's kitchen warm stews and mixed rice before she stopped leaving them out. A few others I plucked from Vesta's farm. It was not pleasant. Eating raw fruit and vegetables is rather unpalatable.

It is now the sixth day and I am almost beginning to regret my previous decision to not return to faerie. Almost. Going back after so many days would be admitting an error and my pride stings enough from having been fooled. Better to stay in the human realm longer and let Great-Grandmother see I can't be so easily cowed. Of course, she hasn't been the only one to hurt my pride.

The lovely Claire rejected my gift and attempted to return it the following night. It was a blow, but one I should have foreseen. The virtuous maiden could not accept such an "expensive" gift from a thief like myself. Even expressing that the earrings had not been stolen did little to sway her, and she retorted that, even hadn't been, she couldn't accept them knowing they may have been paid for with stolen goods. It took quite an argument to convince her, and─I am not ashamed to admit─some magic to get her to accept. The earrings now rest where they should, though it pains me that she protested so forcefully against receiving my gift.

That she still refuses to wear them, only pains me more.

Angst, aside, I am now looking for a permanent place or at the very least one more long-term than a night at the inn. The fees are quite expensive. All the thieving it would require to stay a week would surely catch someone's notice, and it wouldn't do to be caught. Especially not when I very nearly promised it to Claire.

And a fae never breaks his promises.

Which explains why, I am sitting on a street bench reading a newspaper I frisked from a businessman earlier, looking for a place to rent. Silly isn't it? A _sidhe_ noble looking through a _human_ paper for a shoddy little room to rent. It sounds like something from a comedy.

There_ are_ places to rent at least. Though the bulk of them appear closer to Mineral Town than Forget-Me-Not Valley, but it is all semantics. With my speed, I can easily be here and back within the hour (much like with the faerie mound now that I think of it). The only obstacle is its price. I scoff. Quite the obstacle. I could make it in a minute if I could find a witch to exchange my currency. As it is, it's thieving time again.

Mineral Town looks promising. There's a large winery there if I recall correctly. A vintage bottle might do the trick. So might a nip into the mayor's taxes. Of course, luck might also be on my side and that kappa living in the lake will have money to exchange. It is far more likely that creature does not.

_Demons_! I groan. Uncivilized the lot of them. Most appear little more than animals, living without the basic comforts of civilization. It astounds me that even those as human-like as the kappa prefer instead to laze about in ponds all day as though they were fish or ducks. All those brains are wasted on them!

Thieving it is then, unless I find honest work.

Or live with Claire (an option that is exceedingly appealing).

But the latter is unlikely, and the former uncertain. As one of the _sidhe_ I have never worked and will likely never have to. My power, once grown, will be sufficient to sustain me and any trade I take will be an offshoot of that power. Not to mention, what skills I do have are more suited to battle or seduction, and any show of strength will easily prove my non-humanity. It is a little conundrum that leads to only one course.

Watch out Mineral Town, the Phantom Skye's a-prowling!

000

Perched by the edge of the Syltic Sea, Mineral Town is far larger than Forget-Me-Not, though still very rural. The population is approximately two-thousand, impressive when compared to the valley's meager four hundred. Not that I can boast. The towns of faerie tend to host a mere three hundred, if that, with visitors tipping the scales, but we, as I have mentioned, are not as fertile as humans.

It is also very much a port town, despite the local penchant for farming. Many ships dock in its ports some for fishing, but most for trade. As its namesake, Mineral Town is rich in minerals and merchants come from far and wide to stock up on ores, gems, and salt; the great white sails of their ships can be spotted even miles away. Even the air is rich in it, carrying the salty scent of the sea and mustiness of clay.

There are woodlands, too, dappling the spaces near the mountains, and long stretches of meadow perfect for grazing. Indeed, from the hill I am standing in, I can see the white wool of sheep and spotted cows dotting the northern outskirts. Drawing nearer, I can just begin to make out the terracotta roofs, and the vibrantly colored houses favored among the Gallic people. It's a stark difference from the white-washed walls and cobbled stone common among the Breyton and Erish peoples, a trait the valley maintains more than this town, but that is to be expected. The valley does not share a border as this place does.

As I draw closer so do I see with greater clarity. People scramble about like streets like ants and the odd passing cart parts them into divided throngs. Soon buildings become identifiable, the towering steeple of a church, the red sign of the town's only casino, all these become revealed to me; it makes me recall, it has been many months since I have visited this place.

A smile plays on my lips. I know why. It is because of Claire. What fun is it cavorting in a town full of meek men and women, where there is a delightful spit-fire waiting to challenge me? None. But perhaps this place has learned from the time of my previous thefts. Perhaps there will be a bit more challenge.

My eyes are bright with anticipation. Perhaps the Phantom Skye may pay a visit after all!

000

Once arriving in Mineral Town, I learn three things. One, the kappa does not, in actuality have money. In fact, I doubt he even understands the concept of it given his total bewilderment. Second, the Harvest Goddess is also conspicuously absent from her pond here despite the active following of her church. Third, I learn that fate has a terrible taste for sarcasm and a love of using it against me.

Contrary to popular belief (unless stealing from a business establishment or storage place) larceny is best committed during the day. For residences, waiting until dark may guarantee a cover of ambiguity but it also guarantees a house full of inhabitants capable of waking at any moment. I thieve at night for pleasure. Serious theft is left for the day. So it is still light out when I approach the winery. At four in the afternoon it is quiet. The owners, Manna, and her husband Duke, have left thirty minutes prior and the time seems perfect for filching.

Well hidden under glamour, I creep through the main house and head for the cellar. It is a nice house. Not as lavish as I would have imagined, but charming nonetheless. Wood floors and whitewashed walls add a cottage-like feel to it that is enhanced by the masonry on the cabinets and a plain wooden table. I bypass the stairs, heading instead to a door I suspect is the cellar. My suspicions are confirmed a moment later when I turn the knob and am greeted by stairs leading down into the earth.

The lights are on. Unusual, but when I feel out with my magic, I can sense nothing but mice and a fat cat lazing upstairs. The winery is, for all appearances empty of human life. Concerns allayed, I make my way down the steps, turning the corner and into the wine vault.

And freeze.

A man is there bent over one of the caskets, his brown hair tied at the nape, his white shirt is stained with wine at the cuff and his hands are busy taking some measurement. I did not sense him. Cannot understand why I haven't sensed him. Is the time spent away from faerie truly affecting me so much? Have I grown so weak so fast? Tentatively, I step in further, wrapping the shadows tighter to my form.

He looks up as though sensing the movement, his brows furrowing in bemusement. "What are you doing down here?" He drawls, wiping his hands on his apron. A frisson of fear runs through me. Surely he isn't asking me? I turn to look behind me, met only with emptiness. Terror grips my heart and leaves my mouth dry. Startled, I blink rapidly, uncertain of how to react. He peers at me, assessing.

"Hey," the man calls walking towards me and, now, I am certain he can see me. Instinct commands me to run, training to fight. I do neither. This man, this stranger is a _fae-seer_, one of the rare humans born completely immune to our gifts. When I meant a challenge, I did not mean _this!_ Panic seizes me. Time seems to slow; his steps seem to take minutes, even hours, the room growing foggy at the edges. "You're here about the job, right?" And suddenly time is moving normally once more and I am releasing the breath I hadn't know I was holding.

I lick my lips. Abruptly realizing how dry my throat feels. "Yes", I manage, relieved that this man seems to have gotten the situation so wrong. Praise be for overly-trusting farmers!

He smiles. "Cliff, Cliff Daniels" he introduces, offering me his hand. I take it, giving it a careful shake. Immune he may be, but these hands can crush rock. "And you are?"

I try to return his smile and reach for the cool court-face I have been learning. "Lynn Steiner." I answer, unsure of how much he has heard. In a town as small as Forget-Me-Not tale of the Phantom Skye has spread quickly and, while this place is much larger, my thefts here have been far more grievous. "You can call me Lynn."

"Nice to meet ya, Lynn." He replies and motions in front of him. "Come on up. Duke and Manna aren't back yet, but I can get you sorted." Unable to do anything else, I comply, moving up the steps as he continues talking, his voice a little strained, a little guarded as though the act embarrasses him."You know, I'm glad you showed up." He admits sheepishly. "My wife's pregnant again, and between caring for the little one and the farm, I won't have much time for this place." He pauses awkwardly, as though he has said too much. "It's a good place," he finishes as we reach the landing and he quickly turns his attention towards the kitchen. "Sit," he requests his back to me as he putters about in the cabinets. When he turns back to me he has two glasses in his hands. "Water? Juice? Soda?"

"Water," I reply, taking the preferred seat. My hands are still cool and clammy. My body still tense from lingering adrenaline. Whether it is my reaction or playing host that suddenly has him discomfited, I do not know. I am only glad not to be the only one shaken by this turn of events.

"So, Lynn," he starts as he passes me a glass and then takes the seat across from me. I drink. The water does much to soothe my parched throat. "What brings you all the way here for work? It's not every day someone looking like you do comes to a town like this."

A frown curls on my lips a second before I recall that to this man my glamour is nothing. Tapping my fingers, I cease holding on it and instead try to recover my suaveness. "I needed to get away from home for a while," I admit staring into the bottom of my glass. "This place looked good." I look up, smiling in a way I hope is charming, and let out a little laugh. "Imagine my luck, finding out about this job when I arrived!"

He nods, wistfully, as though in perfect understanding. I suppress the urge to snicker. Luck indeed! What would he think if he knew that I learned of the position only moments ago in the cellar? What would he do, learning that, but for a quirk of nature, I would not be here at all but cavorting off with a few bottles of their finest reds?

"It's not an easy job," he warns, surveying me from over his glass. "There's a lot of hard labor and time out in the sun. It's a struggle if you're not used to it." I drink to stop my urge to mock him. Struggle! Ha! How hard could it be, watering some crops and moving barrels? Claire does it all the time and she is human. With my magic it'll be done in a cinch!

"That's fine," I affirm pleasantly. His gaze is still skeptical as his brown eyes roll over my form. I know what he must think: _here is a pampered prince that never has lifted a finger in his life. _He could not be more wrong. Pampered I may be, but I have overcome trials far greater than he could imagine. Especially with Lyrinelle. I shudder. Nothing can compare with that. _Nothing._

My nonchalance is unnerving him; he thinks I underestimate the work. Still, sensing that I cannot be swayed, he relents, hands nervously smoothing his hair. "Alright then. Guess we'll have to see." He downs his drink in one and glances at the clock hanging above the door. "Final word's Duke's, but I'm sure he'll take you. Come on, I'll show you the fields till he gets back. Shouldn't take him long."

Cliff's predictions are proven true a half hour later when Duke and his wife return. Not only does the old man offer me the job, he also offers me accommodations. Accommodations, it seems, which had belonged to Cliff in the year before his marriage. Apparently, this is not the first time this man and his wife have taken in strangers without even the slightest inquiry into their backgrounds. It is astounding really, the naivety of these folks. I could easily have been a criminal, invited into the sanctity of their home─actually, I am one according to these humans' laws!

The irony of the situation is not wasted on me.

I won't complain though. Why would I, when I am getting the better end of the deal? If these fools would like to risk their safety in such a manner, who am I to stop them? As a matter of fact, as a member of the _unseelie _or "dark" court I should be encouraging them!

"This is the room," Duke informs gaily, his cavernous voice drawing me from my thoughts. "Not what you might be used to, but comfortable enough." And honestly, I must agree.

Said room is a far cry from the opulence I am accustomed to in Great-Grandmother's manor. Rather, this room reminds me of Claire. Like the kitchen below, the walls are a plain white and the floor a warm, chestnut. Furniture is sparse. A single bed sits in a wedged into a corner with a small bedside table to its right and a chest at its foot. Across from it, lies a small writing desk and to the east a small table and set of chairs, the green paisley pattern of the tablecloth the only color in the otherwise neutral room.

"If it's not to your liking," the old man offers, his black eyes inspecting, "I'm sure we can get something fixed up with Doug, though it'll have to come out of your wages."

Surveying the room one last time, I weigh my options. Staying at the inn will allow for a measure of autonomy this space cannot guarantee, but living here might make it easier to go on my nighttime escapades. The latter ultimately decides it, and I shake my head. "That's unnecessary," I comment. "This is more than enough."

Duke smiles, the action making him look younger than his salt-and pepper coloring implies. "Well, my boy," he chortles, patting my back with a heavy hand, and I wince at the contact, "welcome to Aja Winery. Work's five days a week. Pay's every Friday, but you'll get the first in advance to get you settled. Tomorrow Cliff here'll show you the ropes then you'll be all set to go."

Glancing at the caramel-haired young man standing off to the corner, a sense of dread sounds through me.

Something tells me that tomorrow will _quite _a day.


	8. Secret 8

**A/N: (**T_T**) No reviews? Not even when I gave you _two _helpings of Skye & Claire? (;_; ) Shame on you! =p Now you get an evil-cliff hanger!  
**

**On a more serious note. I finally got a job! Sadly, that means I won't have as much time to write, so the next updates may be delayed. **

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**Secrets # 8:**

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Let it be known, Skyelynn Rilynnthus Nis Caelanea is a prophet! My prediction has come true: today has been _quite _a day.

In the complete antithesis of all things right and just, I was woken promptly at six am, only scant hours from when I had lain to bed after another midnight-rendezvous with Claire. It was Cliff. Just about the last person I wished to see that early─and the most troublesome. The heavy-set Duke I could have bespelled, his lovely wife, I could have charmed, but against this man I could do nothing. It was infuriating.

The only highlight of the morning was that this shy farmer had brought breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. It was enough for two, his wife−the darling−having generously made me a portion. I devoured it ravenously, enjoying every bite of the spiced rice and pickled vegetables. It seems that like me, Cliff is a connoisseur of curries.

But even this delectable meal could not have made up for the rest of the day.

Despite good intentions, Cliff Daniels is a royal pain in the ass. To be fair, it's not any fault of his that he's been born the way he is, but in those moments, I would have liked nothing more than to have strangled him and disposed of the body in the very fields we worked in. Yet he is as he is, and while I have a wicked streak a mile long, it doesn't venture into violence.

Not yet, and not ever if I have my way.

So, rather than murder, physical labor was on the agenda. And I do mean labor. Long, back-breaking, sweat-inducing, labor. For while watering plants and carrying crates are easy tasks, doing them human slow was the challenge. Had that simpering, goody-goody not been there, I could have finished it all before noon. The watering can could have been charmed to water. Weeding, I could have bribed nearby sprites to do. The carrying of crates and barrels I could have ferried by the dozen, completing it in half the time.

Yet I did none of these things, instead listening as this well-meaning man explained where things went and demonstrated how to do them. Any other person would have been appreciative, and, I concede, there _were _some useful things mentioned, but it still was not enough to compensate for all that time lost.

It is time I am making up for now─or, at the very least, enjoying now. Bathed, and comfortably dressed in a new pair of navy jeans and a wine red shirt, I am helping myself to the kitchen, and it is quite nice. Duke has a fully stocked kitchen filled with enough vegetables and spices it threatens to rival that of the manor. Clearly, I exaggerate. While there are spices here I am unfamiliar with, it lacks the sheer volume and variety my home in faerie boasts. Nonetheless, this discovery is refreshing and exactly what I needed after a day toiling in the sun.

I make curry. In every shape, form, and flavour I can. The result is an impressive display of dishes and tantalizing smells that has Duke, his ebony-haired wife, and even their dog creeping into the kitchen. Yet none of these curries is _the _curry. Their flavors are too weak. Too mild. Lacking in some essential ingredient that none of the countless recipes I have consulted have mentioned.

We consume them all anyway, the dishes disappearing quickly between us. Manna is exceedingly pleased and heaps on praise. A restaurant, she says, would be lucky to have me, and Duke earns himself a jab when he comments playfully, that I might even replace his wife in the kitchen. The camaraderie is foreign to me. In faerie, Rilla is the only one who encourages my efforts. Maddie makes no comment, but aids me silently as she would Rilla. And Mother… Mother is wildly amused by the whole thing and indulges me as she would a spoiled child.

It is nothing like complete approval these humans are offering me.

It's kind of… _nice._

000

The real highlight of my day─or, should I say, night─is meeting Claire.

Departing from town, I arrive at the valley sometime around nine in the evening. What few streetlights there are glow merrily, casting long shadows into the dark. The streets are bathed with the silvery light, and the air is rich with the scent of growing things. A few people still wander out, enjoying the warm night air, and I spy at least one couple whispering by the trees.

It is early. Still too early for our usual meeting, but I am enjoying my stroll. The magic here is so much richer than in the other town. The proximity to faerie maybe? Or is being the birthplace of the Harvest Goddess to blame? Both are likely reasons. Perhaps it is both then, that makes this place so invigoratingly magical.

I turn, crossing the bridge as I continue my meandering. I pass by the inn, most of its windows are lit suggesting a high level of business, and as a few wink out, it leaves the inn with a set of hungry, yellow eyes. The bar, when I pass it, is similarly active, and music trickles faintly from its walls. Who is playing? Is it that bartender or perhaps the bard? Or is it the radio that fills the place with such sound? I could go find out, but I have had enough of human company today−especially male company.

A copse of trees looks inviting, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and I head towards them. Amidst their trunks, I feel a sense of peace pervade me. They feel familiar and somehow comforting. I lean against one then slide down to sit facing the water. This late there are no turtles sunning themselves on its shores. Instead I am greeted by an uninterrupted view of the sea.

It's breathtaking. As though some god had carved out a little piece of paradise and set it here. With the trees at my back and the sea before me, it is as though I have been transported into another world, untouched by human hands. Stars sprawl out as far as my eyes can see, strewing the skies with diamonds. The moon is huge and luminous before me and waves seem to lap at its fat crescent. It in turn, gifts them with its light and those dark waters swallow it greedily, the peaks and caps glistening a white so pure it seems the stars are reflected in the waves.

I breathe in deeply, savoring the scent of the sea. There is nothing quite like it, this strangely sweet and salty perfume. It speaks of a hundred million things. Of rain against the treetops and the bitter tang of tears. And somewhere, I remember, there is a legend that says all life started with the sea. I close my eyes, inhaling it deeper and rest my head against a tree. Deprived of sight, it is so much stronger, and I become aware of the sound of waves whispering against the shore. It soothes me. Coaxing me to let go of my worries and to simply _be_. Before I know it, I am being lulled to sleep.

"M.l…d!" Something.. Something disturbs my sleep. My back aches from where I have slumped against a tree and I strain to make out the sound. "Wa…up…M…l..rd!" A voice? Is someone calling me? I crack open an eye and wince against the sudden light. A small fire seems to be hovering before me, shattering the soothing darkness. I blink blearily, trying to focus on it. "Milord!" The voice shrieks, and my eyes widen as my brain finally identifies what I see. Hovering inches from my face is a pixie.

A human might call them a fairy, a scholar a will o wisp, and, though they are of faerie, they are none of these things. Ranging in size from five to seven inches in height and topped with insect-like wings they are among the smallest of the fae and the most delicate. Seeing them it is easy to think them harmless. It is a deadly deception. One I know well, for I realize I recognize this pixie.

"Synstylae?" I groan, my mind is still muddled with sleep, but with pink-hair and carmine eyes I would know her anywhere. She is Synstylae, one of Mother's personal spies. Only six inches tall and painfully slender, most fail to notice her as they fail to notice most pixies─a mistake they often pay for. "What are you doing here?" I grouse.

"Your mother, Milord." Synstylae chitters, her pale, moth-like wings flittering so fast they hum. Nervously, she toys with the hem of her white gown, the gossamer fabric rippling in the gale of her wings. "She wants you home."

"No." Is my stunted reply. Distress echoes in her features and the glow of her skin intensifies.

"Please, Milord." She begs; her voice tinkles like chimes in the wind. "It has been over eight days since you last came home and you've even missed Beltane. Milady is worried."

"No." I repeat firmly. "Tell Mother, I will return when I see fit."

"But Milord−"

"No!" I rebuff with more force. "I won't be swayed."

The narrowing of those slanted eyes is my only warning before she lunges.

She is quick, unimaginably quick, and it is only my years of training that save me as my body dodges instinctively. Rolling to my feet, I have barely a moment to breathe before she is charging at me again. Her magic pushes at me, seeking an opening even as her nails seek my eyes and I am glowing with the sheer power needed to stop her. She whispers something, her hand flinging outwards, and this time I am not quick enough. Throwing up an arm I swallow back a cry. It hits me full force, slicing through my skin like shards of glass, and blood stains my shirt in a parody of its leopard spots.

I push back with power of my own, halting the assault. The effort of it leaves me breathless. "Stop," I reason, my voice coaxing, seductive, "you do not want to do this." My words are heavy with power. But she is unaffected, too familiar or too formidable to succumb to my nascent gifts. I snarl, frustrated. My gift is still weak and not fully manifested. I cannot manage anything more than the faintest compulsion. _Force then!_ My mind growls, its voice sounding suspiciously like Lyrnelle's.

Her assault on me continues. Fine powder shimmers off her wings. Poison, I realize. She would poison me! I hold my breath, responding with a few lunges of my own. The pixie dodges them with ease, but this has only been a feint. While attacking I have been collecting my power, calling to it as I had called during the fire trials. It seeks to hold her, smother her, and I perceive the moment it works when her hands claw at her throat. Her body shudders, desperate for the oxygen it has been deprived of.

I use the moment to grab her, my hand crushing her wings as I relieve the pressure enough that she can breathe. The moment she senses this, her fight is renewed, a fresh wash of poison searing my palm. My hand twitches, but I do not let go, clamping down instead with my magic as she attempts to bleed me again. Still, I do not let go. Cannot. The power I've expended is too much. My body wants to shudder from exertion and it is a struggle to fight back the evidence of my exhaustion. Should she escape, I would not have strength to subdue her once more. She mustn't know. It would only make her more vicious.

My bluff appears to work, and a moment later she stills. Yet this does not stop her from showing her displeasure. She glares at me hatefully, lips spread wide in a grotesque display of pointed teeth, the mask of meekness completely gone.

"You will not fight me." I order, and I know my eyes must be brilliant, blue flames. Feral and inhuman. Intimidating.

"Very well, _Milord_. I will not fight you." She snarls. Being bested by me has infuriated her, but honor keeps her compliant. It is she who initiated this duel and she, who in doing so, opened herself to defeat.

"And you will not attempt to force me to return again." I demand.

If possible, her gaze becomes more poisonous, her eyes burning a livid red. "I will not attempt to force you to return this night."

This time, it is my turn glare. "Or for the next fortnight." I press.

"I ca−"

A crack rips through the air, startling us, and I spin just in time to see a flash of white a split-second before it's gone, lost in the shadow of the trees. My heart jumps, faltering. For three long seconds I am stunned. Too stunned to react. A harsh bite on my finger brings me back to my senses. In my panic, my grip has tightened, threatening to crush the small pixie I still hold.

I look at her, accessing. "Synstylae," I order. "find it." The words are barely past my lips before a thought strikes me. "And do not tell my mother," I amend.

A taunting smile curves on her lips, stained red with my blood. Her eyes narrow slyly as leans against my hand, mocking me. "And what," she trills, "do you propose in return for my silence?"

I scowl, irritated that she would banter when someone, something, has spied us in this very spot. "The blood on your lips is worth far more than silence and you know it, Synstylae."

"Ahh," she retorts, cattily, "but _that _is just a consequence of battle, _Lord Skyelynn._ Blood is so much sweeter gifted."

"You wish for more blood then?" I ask incredulously. "Ridiculous."

"A favor for a favor then," she offers tossing her hair back. "To compensate for my suffering at the Lady's hands." I splutter angrily. The request is outrageous and she knows it. If anything, my reaction amuses her. It only makes me angrier.

"Suffering?" I mock, my ire rising by the second. Every moment spent here is another wasted in catching our culprit. And she is wasting much of my time. "She cannot punish you for something she doesn't know." I snarl. "But if you fear her suffering so much I will let you tell her yourself." My lips curl into a cruel smile. "I'm sure Mother will be _very _interested in how you left me here, weak and wounded to fend alone against a threat."

Her face pales. Such a possibility probably never occurred to her or, if it did, she did not expect me to catch on so quickly. "What would you offer then?" She looks up hopefully. "Blood after all?"

I gnash my teeth. These games frustrate me and the little fae seeks to take advantage of my impatience. "Honey," I offer knowing a pixie's fondness for the treat. "Half a jar in return for your word to keep total silence about our watcher."

A frown pinches her lips, making her fair face look gaunt and ghastly.

It almost makes me pity her. In fact, I do pity her. I blink, growling when I realize she is using her tricks on me. "Stop the tricks!"

The pixie lets out a moue of displeasure but complies. "Three jars." She demands, pink tongue darting out to lick her lips.

"Two."

"Agreed." She states, wings humming with eagerness.

"Vow it." My voice is cold and hard with warning.

Her expression sours. "I vow that I will keep silent from Calenea−"

"And all others," I prompt.

She makes a rude gesture, but amends. "−and all others, the events of this night concerning 'our watcher'."

There are gaping loopholes in her phrasing, but I am too anxious to debate them. This will have to suffice. Grateful, this stupidity is over with, some of my tension eases. "Find them," I order, "but do not harm them. Then report to me. And Synstylae," I warn darkly, "should I learn you've gone against me, Mother will be the least of your worries. _Uncle _doesn't _just _teach swordplay."

Nodding shakily, she complies, buzzing off with the swiftness unique to her kind. She will find them, whoever they are. She must. Few creatures are faster than the winged fae.

Yet my heart beats in an irregular rhythm and worry eats at my mind.

_Someone has seen me. _

I don't know what to make of it.


	9. Secret 9

**A/N: Not one review? None at all? Are you guys liking this? Or has the AU quality turned you off? It makes me sad... **

**T_T**

**Anyway, here is Chapter 9. Enjoy and REVIEW!**

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**Secret # 9**

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It is half past midnight when I arrive in the clearing, long after the appointed time, and my stomach is sick with unease. The events of the night have left me unbearably tense, and my eyes dart about, scanning the night. The trees loom long and ghoul-like, their pale bodies made sinister in the eerie blue glow of the crystal flowers. The shadows, usually so comforting, look hungry and wanting, gaping maws ready to devour unsuspecting prey. As I pass under that cold light, I too take on a ghastly hue, my skin transforming into the pallid blue of the drowned. I shiver, a fine tremor that raises the hairs on the back of my neck, whether in fear or exhaustion it is hard to tell.

Around me, the air too seems to shudder, a sudden concentrated movement that leaves the air feeling heavier, thicker, almost chocking like colloguing incense. The insects are conspicuously silent. Not the slightest chirping of a cricket or the faintest buzzing of a cicada disturbs this place, nothing save a sudden hitched breath− a breath all too human. I turn, my eyes seeking its source, and immediately the air is lighter, its pressure lessening with a near audible sigh. Slumped against the base of a great oak tree is Claire.

Even from this distance it is clear she is asleep. Her breast rises in slow, coordinated movements and loose tendrils of golden hair tremble in its wind. A sleepy frown mars her countenance, and her fingers twitch where they lay half in her lap, half on the bulk of her lurid green rucksack. She is beautiful even now, her skin luminous in the light of the moon, the hair tousled about her shoulders gleaming a pale white. Even in her scuffed blue overalls and crumpled pink shirt she is beautiful.

The sight of her does much to calm me, and I can feel the tension easing. The trees now do not look so sinister, the night not quite so dangerous. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the crickets begin to sing, the night around me beginning to return to life. Suddenly, I realize that devoid of its god, I could take this place, mold it with my magic and make it mine for here there must lie a little piece of faerie.

A piece of faerie I could command.

Tempting. Yet not so tempting. I am not yet old enough to survive the ruling of my own lands even if I could forge myself a space on this hill. Yet it is comforting, the knowledge, that if I willed it I could be in faerie here and now, unburdened by Great-Grandmother's influence. It is the best discovery I have made yet tonight. The others were far less pleasant.

Synstylae could not find them−neither could I. There was nothing in the woods, and nothing in the trees. The only sign that anything had been there at all was in the bruised foliage and half-broken branches as though something had run headlong into them. Whatever had spied us had escaped quickly, so quickly even one of the winged fae could not follow. It is strange and forbidding, doubly so for the timing of it all. No mere human could have escaped so quickly, no animal would have been so keen to run. It makes me suspect far greater things than mere discovery. Deadly things filled with the types of games few men or women can triumph−games I am not yet ready for.

It is a suspicion that only grows as the night goes on.

A survey of the outlying area yielded nothing but more questions. While a few humans milled about, none showed signs of weariness or the slightest edge of fear. Their manners were so completely incongruous, I discarded them immediately. The bard was one of these. I spied him sitting serenely by a pond, strumming softly into the night, accompanied by a red headed maiden listening with rapt attention. Rock was another, hidden against the shadows of a house, I found him with his hands fumbling under the hem of a young woman's dress. A brunette, I noted, but not, the young heiress from the mansion−suspicious, for sure, but no concern of mine.

I sigh. I wish it were Claire that had seen us. Claire that had called upon her untapped magic and blessed gifts to disappear so thoroughly. Claire had seen me as I truly am. Though much as I wish it, I fear it, for what if her eyes hold only terror when they fall upon me? What if her words are only curses or bitter pleas instead of chiding, friendly words she so often speaks?

Yet it wasn't Claire; it cannot be. I know the taste of her power and there was no trace of it there. I frown, my brows furrowing. There was no noticeable trace of power at all, none, save for that of Synstylae and I. It is strange. Very strange. Something few can manage and none of them innocent…

My hand stills where it hovers over the young maiden, my hands inches from the softness of her hair. It cannot be. I swallow. I am a prince of sorts, yes, but tremendously far from the throne. The only title I might inherit is Great-Grandmother's and even then it would pass to Mother first. My power is not yet manifested, only barely growing at the common pace in fact; there is no risk I could win a challenge or be gifted a title. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Yet the more I contemplate it, the more I am sure. Something magic was there this night. Something powerful. Something that seems more and more very, very _sidhe._

A cold sweat breaks through me, leaving my hands chilled and my skin pale. This is not something I am prepared to handle. It is not something I _can_ handle. I am a baby, a child, meant to be immune from these games. This fact only makes it more dangerous. Whatever it is. Whoever it is cannot be caught for the retribution would be great. Not only exile from faerie, but the Wild Hunt would ride, for my uncle, while a monster, loves his sister, and Mother, in turn, loves me.

Few would risk the wrath of War. That one of those few may have already done so…

My body quakes at the implications, exhaustion and dread a nauseating mix that leaves me weak, and I stumble, only just catching myself on the oak tree. The movement wakes her, my sleeping angel, her long lashes fluttering upwards to reveal the sapphire orbs within. She mumbles nonsensically, her eyes roving languidly up my form, and smiles cutely, the effortless, innocent sort of smile often gifted by children. My heart jumps, the warmth of it unsettling enough I find myself smiling back. A second later the moment is gone. Those same eyes clear, recognition settling in, worry replacing sleepy contentment as she continues observing me. Her lips dip into a frown.

"Skye?" She queries tentatively, her voice husky from disuse. She sits up, coughing to clear her throat. "Skye?" Claire repeats, brows pinching in befuddlement. "Are you okay?" She reaches for me, the calloused skin of her fingertips resting on my own where it continues to brace me against the oak. She is warm. So wonderfully warm. I feel myself trembling. "Skye!" She cries, stronger now, scrambling to her feet and the bag on her lap slips off to lie forgotten on the ground. "What happened? Are you okay?" Her voice carries a note of panic now, and her hands flutter over me. "Krist!" She swears, "You're so cold!"

Unable to control myself, I pitch myself forward, grabbing her in my arms and burying my face in the wealth of her hair. She stiffens at the action, then, slowly, hesitantly, puts her arms around me. This close I can smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. Honey, she smells like, and almonds. It makes me wonder if she makes it herself.

The normalcy of the thought breaks me, and I come apart in her arms, my body shuddering so violently, she rubs small circles along my spine and coos comforting, nonsense as though I were a child or a dog. It makes me laugh, the absurdity of being treated like her dog, and I am laughing so hard I do not know if I am truly laughing at all or crying. Still, through it all, she holds me, her words soft, and her discomfort noticeable only in the increasing tightness of her grip.

After a while, I stop, the tremors slowing until my body no longer shakes in her arms and it is only my fingers that continue to the movement. Lifting my head, I realize my face is wet with tears and the imprint of them is stark on the fabric of her shirt. She must have felt them, I realize. Embarrassed at my weakness, I carefully disengage myself from her arms, turning my face away from her and avoiding her eyes as I step from her embrace.

She stops me with a hand on my arm, the very arm I have glamoured to hide the blood from my wounds−wounds that are still only half healed due to the Synstylae's poison. I still refuse her gaze, and I wonder how she sees me now. Are my eyes fever bright? Is she ashamed of me? Disturbed at the liberties I've taken? Disgusted by my weakness?

"Skye?" She presses gently, "please look at me." I do, my gaze finding hers, and what I find is the opposite of what I feared. In her eyes shines affection so genuine, so pure, I am nearly in tears again. My heart gives a little flop instead, leaving me breathless. "What happened?" Claire asks. When I do not respond she takes my hand in hers and leads me closer to the lake, tugging me down to sit with her in the cool grass. I oblige my body leaning to rest against the boulder she usually perches on.

We sit like that for a few minutes, side by side, simply staring off into the rippling waters of the lake. Her thumb rubbing gentles circles on my hand. The moon breaks on its surface becoming fragments of light and the season's first fireflies float at its edges. It reminds me of the events of this night, and it is only the lingering power of the goddess that keeps me calm, for I know nothing seeking harm could enter this place.

"Skye…"Claire begins hesitantly, as though afraid speaking will cause me to succumb to tears once more."Did something happen? Do you…would you like to talk about it?"

I eye her quietly, unsure of what to say, instead observing the contours of her face, the bridge of her nose. There is a freckle beneath her left eye, a tiny pin-prick I hadn't noticed before. The discovery pleases me, as though I have learned another secret shared only between the two of us. It gives me the courage I need, for I speak. "I had…" I start, carefully, cautiously, unwilling to make her worry further, yet unable to disclose the full truth. "I had a fight….and I learned something…very upsetting."

I stop, biting my lip as I have seen her do so many times, trying to find the words and failing. She squeezes my hand reassuringly as though reminding me that she is still here, still with me. I smile gratefully, my smile growing wider when she flushes lightly. "Was…" She falters. "Was it your family?"

I scoff, shaking my head. "I wish it were." I laugh, a hollow, mirthless thing. "No," I state with more seriousness, looking out at the lake, "though I'm having problems with them too."

"A-a lover?" She offers, avoiding my gaze. The thought seems to unnerve her and there is a bite to her tone.

This time the laugh is an honest one. "No. Not a lover." I reply, amusedly. "I'm looking for someone _special._ Would you know such a girl?" I tease.

Claire swats at me playfully, her flush deepening. "As if I'd give you another victim Mr. I'll-Steal-Your-Heart."

"Hmm…" I muse, my mood improving by increments. "Are you suggesting something, _Claire_?"

"What?" She looks stricken, but recovers herself quickly. "No. I just can imagine how many 'lovely maidens' you've managed to charm. You don't need any help."

"Ah ha!" I smirk. "So you find me charming, I see?"

"I didn't say me!" She protests, her blonde hair, swinging to cover her face. "I don't find you charming at all!"

"_Really_?" I mock then lift our still joined hands to my lips, breathing the next words against the smoothness of the back of her hand. "Then maybe, I should try harder, my _beautiful maiden_."

She snatches her hand back as though burned, and I feel the loss keenly. Claire must have seen something of it in my face for she edges nearer, looking up into catch my eyes where I have hidden them beneath my bangs. "Hey," she calls. "You're okay now, right?"

I smile weakly. "I'll be okay, Claire." The words taste like a lie, souring the pleasantness of the mood. "I should be okay."

My angel is unconvinced, and this time she takes my hand and threads our pinkies together. I stare at it, uncertainly. "Whatever it is I'll be here for you. Just count on me." She smiles at me reassuringly. "Pinky promise." She bites her lip. "Well…" She amends teasingly,  
"as long as it's nothing illegal. If the cops stop by, you're on your own."

"Really?" I cock an eyebrow. "So you'd leave me at the mercy of those brutes?"

She snorts, such a crass sound from such a fine lady, though I suppose, dressing in overalls and working in dirt she doesn't imagine herself much of one. "If they're following, I'm sure you did something to deserve it. Fair's fair and all that." Her expression grows somber. "But seriously, please don't get yourself in trouble. Stealing isn't worth it."

"I'll try not to," I promise, repeating her action and threading our fingers together. "Pinky promise."

Claire laughs, the sound lifting a weight from me, and I find her amusement infectious.

"Oh!" She blinks. "I just remembered something, wait here!" She demands, scuttling to her feet and wiping her hands on her jeans. I watch her, observing as she picks up the forgotten rucksack, bringing it back merrily, and seating herself. "Here," she says, taking out a square parcel. I take it from her gently.

There is smooth blue plastic beneath my fingertips, embossed with a small brand name and logo. It is a container, the type people usually buy to store food in or keep in their lunch boxes. At her urging, I open it, and immediately am assaulted by the mouth-watering scent of curry, blue curry to be exact. "Curry! I love curry! How did you know?" I question in awe.

The maiden seems discomfited by my question, staring at the scuffed material of her black sneakers and playing nervously with her fingers. "You smell like curry sometimes." She admits, glancing at me shyly. "I thought you must have liked it quite a lot to smell like it so often. So…" She trails off, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "I made you some. Try it! There should be a fork in there too."

And indeed, there is a fork. More than willing, I take a bite. It is cold, and slightly hard, but the flavors are lovely. It is spicy, just as I like it, though the balance between the herbs and the curry are a little off. Too much cumin, I theorize, yet somehow it is better than any of the curry I made today. I chuckle lightly. It must be because of Claire. Even if the food were burnt and browned, I would probably still enjoy it with her beside me.

Truly, she is quite a special girl, my little maiden.

"So, what do you think?" She inquires, tone half-fearful, half-hopeful.

"Delicious." I smirk. "Though there's room for improvement."

The little maiden huffs, but her eyes glow with pleasure. "Next time it'll be better. Just you wait! Soon I'll have you begging for my curry!"

I smile, warm from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. "I'll look forward to it."

And I shall, for something tells me I will come to appreciate these meetings more and more.

I only hope that is a good thing.


	10. Secret 10

_**A/N:**_ Thank you Miss Lady Otaku, Opaline Sapphire, and Guest. You don't know how much I needed the encouragement. Here is Chapter 10. 11 and 12 might have some delay as I've been writing in Claire's POV lately and I need to figure it out from Skye's end.

**Random Fact:** The Island of Skye in Scotland is known for its Fairy Pools and is a prominent area in fairy lore. Coincidence no?

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**Secret # 10**

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We talk late into the night sharing secrets and stories, painting pictures of our lives in snapshots of time. I learn of Claire's fondness for checkers, and how she and her brother, Jack, first played the game on hand-painted cardboard with bottle-caps serving as pieces. I learn that her first dog was Allie, a poodle named by Jill, and of her weakness towards french-fries, and her allergy towards iron.

In turn I tell her of rainy afternoons spent playing chess with Adair (a Ferrish fae my age whose troop settled in our moors every winter) and of adventures in the forests with my hounds Anis and Bran. I tell her of Rilla and Maddie (termed nanny and cook), and how I would hide in the kitchens to escape my tutors. I tell her of celebrations at solstice and balls until light, of my love of poetry, and my fondness for night.

She laughs as I speak, the sound like tinkling bells. The thought of balls and tutors so foreign it is funny. And I imagine it must for a city-girl turned farmer. Half-jokingly she questions what I must have done to lose all that wealth, for surely a thief cannot be wealthy. Had I squandered my fortunes? Lost them all in a bet? Such an innocent thing my Claire, I cannot help but to tease her, and in lieu of answer, I only smile enigmatically, until she decides I must be an unruly heir, disowned for some scandal, and turned criminal to keep up my lavish lifestyle.

Her story proves too far-fetched even for her, for she bursts into giggles shortly after the announcement, and provides a story of her own. She tells me of her great-uncle Pete, who had owned the farm before her, and of how he was rumored to have eloped with a mermaid and gone to live in her kingdom. Laughing at herself, she discredits theses statements, stating though no one has seen him, it is more likely ran away to marry a foreigner from Damaskis for that is where the letters are posted from.

I am not so amused, well aware as I am, of the existence of the merrows and their fondness of humans.

Yet it irks me that Claire can so easily dismiss mermaids when I have seen her speaking to sprites in the valley. Perhaps it is a peculiarity of humans. Perhaps it is a quality all her own, but the easy conversation we had slowly degrades after that. We speak instead of banal things. Little nothing topics to fill the space that seems to hang between sentences waiting to pounce and destroy the closeness of before.

But this too draws to a close, the awkward silence catching up to us, making aware of our proximity and we move away from each other where we have come to lay side by side in the grass. Standing, we are again two not-quite strangers in the night, uncertain of our circumstances and how the events of this night have changed them. She bites her lip, an anxious habit, and I sway lightly on the balls of my feet. Anxious, irresolute, the silence drags between us. We are like two puppets that have lost their strings, two dancers who have suddenly forgotten how to dance, awkward and unclear of what step to take next.

The distance between us rankles, and I am first to move, drawing her into my arms.

She tenses beneath me, her muscles coiled and strained, yet she does not move, save to glance at me from the corner of an eye. "Goodnight, Claire," I bid her and breathe against her hair. "Thank you." I whisper, and this time I take her hand in mine kissing her knuckles, and parting from her slowly, until it is only our fingers that touch.

Her eyes burn with questions and it is ultimately Claire that breaks our contact, drawing her hand into her chest. She looks at me, for long moments, then shakes her head, a cautious smile growing on her features. She says but three words, but they are golden. "You're welcome, Skye."

I smile, but say nothing more.

000

It is late when I return, or, should I say, it is early. At four am, it is still dark when I crawl into my room through the second-story window, though I know it won't be for long. Already the sky is lightening, deep midnight transitioning into a Prussian blue, and I know too soon my tormentor will be here for yet another day of "training".

I am too tired to care. Too tired to do much of anything at all really, but the flaking hardness of blood compels me to bathe. I do so quickly, emerging from the small adjoining bathroom nude and slipping beneath the sheets, far too weary to bother with clothes. The moment my head strikes the soft down of my pillows I am asleep.

When I wake, it is far past 6 am. The bright sun filtering through the curtains tells me as much. It surprises me, for I had thought my tormentor would be here at dawn, knocking for me to wake. Yet it seems even fate has a sense of mercy, Cliff has given me a day off, taking the work instead onto himself, and I can see him in the fields, hair glistening in the sun. It is likely he thinks me too drained from the previous day and in need of recovery. He is right, but not for the reasons he suspects.

Both battle and stress have weakened me. It took much power to subdue Synstylae and more to recover. Even now I can feel the lingering remnants of poison in my blood, leaving my head aching and my body hot. It does little to help my appearance. I look as exhausted as I feel, my lovely skin flushed, and my brilliant eyes dulled and glazed as though in fever. The magic here has done little to help, inferior as it is to that of faerie, though help it has. Had this been one of the great cities like Londin and Parys I would likely be too weak to move.

Consciousness is a mixed blessing. Awake, I am far too cognizant of the dangers around me, my mind finding monsters in the masonry and horrors lurking in the shadows. Asleep I am spared them, but am painfully vulnerable in turn. It makes my fingers twitch, longing for the familiar weight of my dagger _Liath Dubhar_. It is a longing I cannot satisfy, for that weapon lies deep in faerie, safely ensconced in its carrying case within my room in the manor.

It is a powerful weapon, unique in its kind, for it is one of three daggers made by Thalik the _Goibhniu_, and my grandfather. Mother owns the first. Uncle the second. My own is the third. But _Liath Dubhar_ was not always mine. Like Mother's _Brón Bán _and Uncle's _Bás Dearg_, _Liath Dubhar_ was made for another of Thalik's children: Nemaine.

She was the youngest of the three, and much beloved for it. Yet she was different than her siblings. While she was beautiful like all my kin, hers was a quieter, gentler beauty. Her hair was not the brilliant silver of her sister, nor the white-gold of her brother, but the pale gold of sunlight and straw. Her skin while fair was not milk white, but a rosy, hue. Some might have called it a more human beauty if not for her eyes. Silver bleeding into a most brilliant topaz and ending with the deepest midnight, it is said it looked as though stars had burst within her eyes. They were rare eyes, much prized even amongst the _sidhe,_ for it is said such eyes are a sign of unusual power.

But if she was powerful, her power was a gentle one. Her gifts were not of battle and bloodshed, of seduction and charm, but healing. Like Armid who would bring the dead back to life, so could Nemaine heal with a touch of her hand and halt death with her song. It made her precious, but painfully vulnerable, for true healers cannot heal themselves and have few gifts to protect them.

_Liath Dubhar_ was forged with this in mind. It would hide her when she needed hiding, and heal her when she needed healing. Her enemies it would bespell to endless slumber.

It could not save her.

Nothing could.

She died in the hands of Haeos, prince of the Lamsha, and her lover. Mother said they should have seen it coming. That the Lamsha had warred for our lands too long. A love affair would not have stopped them.

War did.

It is said Uncle's fury was so great he bathed the hills red with blood and the earth trembled with his passing. That the madness of _Bás Dearg_ spread like a plague, turning kin against kin, until none remained.

It is said it was then War was born.

But that is a story for another time.

_Liath Dubhar _is mine and that is all that matters. Now if only I could master its power and not be mastered by it, but, alas, I am only a lordling as Rilla would say. There will be time enough for me to learn myself.

That is one thing the fae have in abundance: time.

Unfortunately I can't be sure how much time I really will _have_.

The hunted feeling of the night before remains a hard knot in my shoulders. It scares me to know that anywhere, at anytime, someone may attack me. That there would be little I could do against them. Matched against another _sidhe_, it is magic and luck that decides the victor, not physical strength or speed. Not, that I could match one in speed. I have yet to learn to shimmer between spaces and must move through more mundane means.

I swallow harshly, my mind suddenly dizzy. Oh holy goddess! I could barely hold out against a _pixie_! What will I do against a greater fae? _Hide?_

But there are few places I can hide. Few ways I can disappear. I have no barrows of my own, nor am I certain I have the strength to hide within those great cities of iron and steel. My only choice would be to return home and hope that mother would protect me.

The thought stings. No. I will not flee! I have too much pride for that. I would know my enemy than live trembling before shadows!

As though to test my will, I feel it, a faint thrum of power. Scanning the area, something trills against my senses, a dissonant note against the quiet placidly of the farm. Magic. There is something magic nearby. Something very…_fae._

I tense, searching more aggressively, my aura reaching out and prying at its shields. It pushes back, a harsh snap going through me like a rubber-band pulled too tight. But it is weak. Far weaker than I expected and I have torn what glamour hides it. It is afraid now, I can feel it, and seeks to flee. Quickly I pursue it rushing down the stairs, and pushing past a startled Manna, so quickly she must think me a strong gust of wind.

Once outside I veer towards the storage shed. It is there I see it, a _cait sith_ hiding behind a few large barrels, its forked tail swaying side to side. The Nihonese would call it a nekomatta.

I call it Niall.

"What brings you _here,_ Niall?" I spit out after confirming there is no one to see us. Fear has left a bitter tang in my mouth and left me shaken. I would not spare the cat my displeasure.

"Niaow young prrince," The _cait sith_ purrs, leaving its hiding place to settle atop a barrel. "Don na be sso harrrsh. Not even a hello forr old Niall?" Its twin-tails wave tauntingly.

"Hello Niall," I bite, knowing the tendencies of cats. "Now tell me, why are you here and not in with Deidre?" It is strange to find the _cait sith_ out of faerie, and rarer still to find this one far from Deidre, Rilla's blind, half-drow daughter. The humans did it during the witch crusades, feckless idiots that they are. They tortured her and rubbed shaved iron and salt into the wounds to "exorcise" her. When it didn't work, they tried to burn her. It is a miracle she survived.

The humans weren't as lucky.

"Mistrress assked."

"What? Asked for what?" The black cat, cocks its head, and inspects a paw, refusing to answer. It reminds me why I much prefer dogs. My _cu sith_ would never treat me with such disrespect. After a long show of licking its pristine paws, the great feline looks at me again, its green eyes slanted coyly. "Niall." I repeat, irritation plain in my voice. "What did Deidre ask you? To come here? To find me?"

"Yesss." It hisses, the sound coming out like a laugh. My eyes narrow.

"Deidre asked you to find me?" I confirm, and Niall dips his head in assent.  
"Why did Deidre ask you to find me?" I demand, tired of these games. "Speak you insolent beast!"

The vexing tom looks at me for long moments unblinking, then curls its tails and stands. "Look out prrrince. Ssome watchesss." The tom hisses in warning.

I spin, turning to find both Cliff and Duke walking towards me. Cliff waves and I return it weakly. I do not want to talk to him. Not now. Especially not with Niall nearby.

But when I turn back my concerns are moot. Niall is gone.

As I make nice with the humans, receiving well-wishing and encouragement, my mind turns back to the conversation of moments before. If anything, its cryptic nature has only left me more perturbed, and I do not know how well I will sleep these nights, only that I will have be painfully careful.

After all, Niall didn't tell me _who_ was watching.


	11. Secret 11

**A/N: Thank you for reviewing. I probably wouldn't have posted this without your encouragement. Do tell me your thoughts, and keep in mind this work is currently a draft. Given how different the next bits I've written are, I may have to change some things.**

* * *

**Secret # 11:**

* * *

There is a rhythm to my days. Each morning is spent in labor, tending fields and picking crops. My afternoons are spent in leisure wandering through town, reading, or furthering my culinary exploits. My evenings I spend with Claire, delighting in the new closeness between us.

It is a pleasant rhythm, undisturbed by the assailants and combatants I had feared. Even Synstylae has not dared attack me again, though I spy the flutter of her wings too often for comfort. Whatever plot there is, it seems, does not concern me, or if it does, it has yet to be set in motion. More likely, this has all been one of Great-Grandmother's machinations. I would not put it past her to intimidate me to return home, and as the days pass idly, I grow more and more convinced that Great-Grandmother is at fault.

Yet a niggling part of me reminds me Niall. It is unlike him to play messenger, and never have I seen him obey any but Deidre. I brush the thought away. All fae love games and the _cait sith_ most of all.

Great-Grandmother is mistaken if she thinks _this_ would send me back to faerie, running to hide behind Mother's skirts like an errant child. I am a prince of the _sidhe_, with all the pride of a one. Such games are not unknown to me. Even had they been, I would not run without first knowing the face of my foe nor would I hide without first attempting to fight. That she thinks so little of me chafes.

But much about Great-Grandmother chafes.

She is a cold woman, with a cold heart, and I am but an unnamed piece in the games she plays. Whether I will be a help or a hindrance is uncertain, and she seeks to push me to my limits, testing the power of my will. If I break too fast before her, I will be a mere pawn in her eyes, subject to the ridicule and disdain worthy of the weak. If I hold strong I am enigma, undecided in my worth, for only the powerful are worthy of her respect, the mere defiant gain only contempt. It's a fine line to dance on for one misstep might turn asset into obstacle, and I would very much rather not be an obstacle.

Iverllis is never kind to obstacles.

But enough of this! This is no time for brooding! Today is a new day, filled with new things to explore! The skies are clear and there is no work to be done. The world, as the sailor's say, is my oyster, and I know exactly what I would like to do with this holiday: spend time with Claire.

Or spy on her more accurately. It wouldn't do to be caught by the villagers, especially not so soon after my scare, and I could hardly approach Claire without drawing attention to myself. Or too little attention to myself as it were. To stand before her so inconspicuously would surely send into some alarm dearest Claire is hardly ready forto hear _those_ explanations. Not to mention how fun it will be to see how she acts when she thinks herself alone.

Glamour it is then!

What should I become? A portly gentleman? A lovely lady? A dashing stranger? The possibilities excite me. Caution has kept me from magic and mischief, instead having me ape humanity with a few minor concessions (I would hardly debase myself to digging in the dirt when a little magic gets it done). Largely, however, I have been adventure-starved and this little outing is exactly what I need.

I choose a freckled young man instead, a skinny twenty-something with a mop of mousey hair and dark grey eyes. Attractive, but nothing to gawk at: the complete opposite to my gorgeous self. Feeling the faint tingle of my glamour taking effect, I smile showing blocky teeth.

_This will be fun! _

000

This early, the valley is only just beginning to come to life. Though the farmers have been up since dawn, the shops are only just now beginning to open for the Sunday crowd. As I pass by the inn, I see the beginnings of an outdoor market in the town square. Artisans and farm-hands are busy setting up their stalls even as a few of the valley's older residents begin arriving. I recognize one of the farmer-hands, Celia, a cute brunette I recall works at the Vesta Farm. She is unpacking little baskets of strawberries and tomatoes and setting them on the table while a blonde boy finishes setting up the tarp.

Her eye catches mine and I flash a smile, amused when she flushes and attempts to hide it with an exaggerated eye roll. Tee-hee. How nice, even disguised I am charming!

These village girls are all so innocent it makes it so fun to tease them. Had they grown up in larger towns they'd surely be far more used to male attention. As is, they are like little lambs waiting to be gobbled up by a wolf. Had I not been _sidhe _and so interested in Claire, I would be tempted to be that wolf. But alas, that task will have to fall to someone else. Given the inherent shyness of these village boys, it looks like that someone will be Rock, the little scoundrel! These poor maidens! They deserve a man that can set them aflame, not a fumbling boy interested only in his own pleasure!

A pity I'd drive them mad. And not with pleasure (though I would do that too). The_ sidhe_ have a tendency of turning their non-magical lovers into mindless addicts.

Then again, even if it weren't so dangerous, humans, I recall, have different views on sex. Darling Claire might not take such promiscuity well if she learned of it. Possessiveness, I would guess. Sex among humans seems to stake a claim of sorts, a this-is-mine mentality, and humans are loath to share their partners. Had it not been for those like Rock, I would think it a type of engagement vow. Not to mention, not all humans who engage in sex seem to marry. Likewise, I know it cannot be marriage. Humans have marriages in grand ceremonies not dissimilar to our own. Though for many humans it seems, such intimacies are indicative of high levels of affection. Perhaps it is a breeding arrangement then? That certainly would explain the anger and hurt shown by humans finding their partner sharing such activities with another.

Whatever the reason, it is irrelevant. I will not be lying with such females. The only human worthy of such interest is Claire.

Speaking of which, I think I have seen her!

But…no.

It is another blonde.

She is unfamiliar to me, but so are the many faces in the valley. Other than the businesses and the mansion, I have paid little attention to the valley's residents. Stealing from such simple folk is nowhere near as entertaining as stealing from a business and is often more harmful. For all my devilishness, I am not fond of harming others. Irritate? Yes. Frighten? Definitely! But harm? No. Not as appealing.

I have a few more false alarms before I finally reach the path leading to Claire's farm. Once there, I further glamour myself, sticking to the shadows as I creep my way into the grounds, cursing silently as the sun leaves me with few places to hide. Being able to shimmer would be a blessing right now. Sadly, that ability won't manifest for a century or two. Mastering it will take even longer.

Thankfully the fields are empty of human life, its only inhabitants a cluster of chickens being eyed warily by a pair of crows set on their corn, and a lone cow and horse grazing in the fields. Even Claire's great shepherd dog is missing, though her cat eyes me warily where it suns itself in the grass by the barn. Not wanting to lose the opportunity, I manage to tuck myself within the canopy of a tree before Claire exits her house in her customary overalls though she has folded them at the legs and added a wide-brimmed hat to her ensemble. Dax follows at her heels, tongue lolling in the heat. She must have taken a break, for as I watch she begins the arduous task of caring for her crops.

I ache to help her, but I know I cannot. Instead I watch silently as she bends and squats, carefully bracing blossoming courgettes against wooden spikes, digging out onions, and picking tiny string beans. She is so gentle with them. So familiar. It is hard to believe it was only a few months ago she had been that city-girl in the photographs, oblivious to country life.

It suits her in a strange way.

Rapt, I continue watching as she weaves through the fields, muscles rippling beneath her pale skin as she continues her task. Strong, graceful, she moves with the efficiency of a large cat, all smooth muscle and easy strength. Is it the fae blood in her that makes it so? Or is it the familiarity of the movements that gives her such grace?

I watch as though entranced, drinking in the sight of brilliant gold of her hair and the flush on her cheeks, the sheen of sweat shimmering on her skin. Eyes bright, face flushed, and smudged with dirt, she is beautiful. The most beautiful I've seen her for the sun does for her what the moon cannot. She is _alive_ in the sunlight. Vibrant and vivid, she is like an earth goddess drinking in its rays.

It is an impression only enhanced by the appearance of earth sprites. Dressed in shades of green they flutter about her like small, colored insects. Curious, I watch as she smiles at one offering her hand and speaks in tones so soft I strain to hear them. The sprite appears to respond and Claire dips down to retrieve a pod of beans, offering to the miniature fae. The tiny figure nods grasping a pod as long as it is tall, and flies up to it comrades where, as one, they swoop into the fields. Claire laughs delightfully, and stab of jealousy runs through me.

_Those lucky bastards. _Where I must hide like some criminal, they flaunt their power, aiding her where I cannot. It irks me.

Though…it begs the question. Why _are_ they aiding her? Are they not pledged to the goddess of the lake? Or is it that in her absence they are drawn to the _sidhe _blood in her and respond as they would to another _sidhe_? Would they then follow my commands above hers as a true lord of the _sidhe_?

It is a theory that begs to be tested.

Accompanied by her little green helpers, the works moves along faster and Claire soon retrieves a watering can from her rucksack intent on watering the remainder of her fields. I smirk. Magic again, that strange bag. How else could such a large object fit in such a small carrying item?

I will have to ask her the story of it another time.

I watch as she continues her task, watering seedlings lined up in a row with a quick swipe. Magic ripples in the air, that single swipe encompassing an area far larger than it should, and my gaze sharpens. Now this certainly explains why she lacks the mechanisms that water the nearby plantation, though she would still benefit from it. Her magic is limited and her watering can soon runs dry, forcing her to refill it time and again. It makes me wonder if she a traditionalist as Duke, believing the best crops are treated by hand or if she cannot afford such things?

Still, it makes for a pleasant sight when she accidentally splashes herself, plastering her clothes onto her body. Yet watching her dutifully water can only keep me entertained so long. In the three weeks of summer her fields have expanded an extra quarter acre and the task is long. Watching as she moves to refill her watering can for the nth time, I feel my eyes drooping and my body relaxing in the warmth of the summer sun. Slowly I doze off to sleep.

When I awake Claire is gone and the fields have been neatly tended. A quick inspection of the grounds reveals that both house and barn are empty leading me to surmise Claire has gone into town. I follow, wincing at the knotted muscles from my impromptu nap, and my stomach lets out a grumble of displeasure. I ignore it, instead wandering through town in search of my favorite blonde.

A half hour later I still haven't found her. The little minx has disappeared and my stomach has now taken to voicing its protests in a loud groans. Discouraged, I decide to appease my stomach, and continue my search later.

I head for the Blue Bar.

At a quarter past one the place is packed. Plaid and plain-shirted men of varying ages have gathered in a throng, taking up most of the counter seats as they hoot and roar in tandem. Lifting a brow, I edge forward, peeking over their heads to spy a battered old television hanging above the bar broadcasting small men running across a field. As I watch, one of men tackles the other, a round ball flying as the rest of them scuffle for it. Rugby. They are watching rugby, a human game nearly as popular in these parts as football is across the border.

I roll my eyes. _Humans_!

My entrance has not gone unnoticed. The lovely Muffy has spotted me. She catches my eye with a flirtatious smile, sashaying through the room in her customary red dress. I give her an appreciative look, making her smile wider, and allow her to herd me to a seat in a corner. Her hands brush mine as she hands me the menu, lingering just a touch too long.

"Can I get you anything to drink to get you started _honey_?" The last comes out in a purr, her dark lashes lowering as she looks at me appraisingly. This one is far from a lamb. Oh no, this one is a lion waiting to sink her teeth into her prey.

My eyes flick to the menu. "A rum and coke." I reply, busying myself with the menu, and she gives a little huff when I fail to look at her. Once gone I allow myself a smirk, leafing through the menu.

_I wonder if they serve curry…_

But no. While they've a modest selection of burgers and pies, I find no curry. Haddock and chips then. Simple and uncomplicated and not as heavy pie. I order it when Muffy returns and soon she is bending at my table as she sets my plate before me in a remarkable display of cleavage. I smirk, amused at her antics. I hadn't though such a plain face would be so appealing. I can only imagine the chaos my true appearance would incite.

What poor maidens. This town must be truly lacking in young men.

Yet I am not inclined to return her interest.

_At least the food is good_, I think as stab a fish with my fork. Hot and flaky, the haddock seems to melt in my mouth. The chips are even better, hand cut and seasoned with salt and spices, they have just the right amount of softness and crunch.

My stomach appears to agree, and I enjoy my meal for a few minutes before I see her: Claire.

She has just arrived in the room, her overalls replaced with a T-shirt and jeans, her hair mussed and eyes bright. Griffin seems to have noticed her too, for he has abandoned his space behind the bar to greet her. She receives him with a smile, sun-tanned arms, wrapping around him in a hug.

I scowl, bristling as he returns the hug, his hands precariously close to her well-developed bottom.

Living in a port town has done wonders for my vocabulary and I use it now.

_Bloody bastard!_ _Hobknocker! Wankstain!_

Does he think no one notices as his hand brushes her arm as leads her to a seat, or how his subtly cages her with his own larger form, hand hovering so close it almost touches her back? She takes a seat gratefully, gifting him with her smile, and he fawns over her, motioning for Muffy to take his place as he serves her with excessive warmth.

The glass in my hand shatters, spilling rum and coke into my lap, the scent of it sharp and sweet. I scowl, wiping my hand on my black jeans. The fish and chips I so enjoyed moments ago taste like ash in my mouth.

Yet Claire seems oblivious of his attentions─or worse, encourages them. She only smiles gratefully as he returns with meal, a beef pie topped with gravy and green beans, unconcerned when his shoulder brushes her own as he serves her. Unsuspecting as his gaze rests not-so innocently on her tidy bust.

_That bloody tosser!_ Who does he think he fools as he, stands by her, leaning expectantly as she samples the food, glowing with pleasure as she praises his cuisine?

Never mind that today, of all days, he's off kitchen duty.

Never mind it's probably some poor sod that cooked it all.

_Damned munter_! Standing there sucking up the praise like he made it himself!

And Claire! She just smiles and laughs in that purely Claire fashion, even swatting him playfully as she shoos him off to work. And he, the _cad_, enjoys it, his dark eyes twinkling as moves back to the bar.

A creaking noise startles me, and I look down to see that my fingers have dug into the table, leaving four long furrows into the wood. I snarl viscously. Serves him right! _Bloody pair of bartenders that don't know when to stop! _The both of them. Too flirtatious for their own good!

Beneath the table, my hands curl into fists.

It seems like it's time that the Blue Bar got a visit from the Valley's favorite thief.

And if a certain someone gets a little hurt during the theft…

Oh well!


	12. Secret 12

**Secret # 12:**

* * *

It starts as it always starts: with a warning.

Perfectly penned on quality paper, the note looks more like an invitation than a declaration of criminal intent. And it is one of sorts. An invitation to halt or capture the thief in their midst. Of course, few of them think of it that way, preferring to stew over which of their "treasures" might be stolen and guarding it. Few have the gall to confront a thief.

Fewer still would yell at one.

It's what I like about Claire. She has the gall. Or perhaps the naivety. I recall fondly the first time she stumbled upon me by the Harvest Goddess' lake. How surprised she had been and how furious! I can still envision the expression of outrage on her face, can still remember the words she shouted at me and her complete resolve to "give me away to the cops" before recalling the lack of a police force in the area. And her embarrassment! It was absolutely delicious!

She was quite horrified then, brandishing her hoe. As if such a weapon could harm one such as I! But in her rage she was bold, completely unconcerned of her own safety, and possessed by her sense of justice. It fascinated me, and still does. She's quite a woman my Claire.

But even such a display won't stop me tonight. I am a man scorned and I will not rest until I have my vengeance. Resisting is futile, and, actually, might even incite me. That bartender is just spoiling for a fight and I would be more than happy to give him one. In fact, had I been a less honorable, I would give it to him right now.

He is sleeping just in the other room, completely oblivious to my presence. How easy it would be to appear before him and watch the terror unfold in his eyes as he realizes his utter helplessness. How lovely it would be to beat him until that not-so-handsome face turns black and blue, and his bones crack beneath my fists. How wonderful to have him cower before me. The thought makes my blood rush intoxicatingly and my body ache with suppressed desire.

I won't do it though. Claire would never forgive me, and I, after some time, might regret such actions. This man, while a disrespectful _arse, _is useful and provides necessary services to both Claire and the community. I don't have to like it though, and I will take full satisfaction in stealing whatever trinket he values most. I do, however appease my viciousness with a bit of intimidation, and instead of leaving the note by the bar as I intended, I place it instead on Griffin's pillow with an added nightmare spell as a bonus.

_There,_ I think. _How will you feel walking up when you find that? How will you feel seeing your nightmares reflected in reality?_

I can almost imagine it. The horror at finding the note. The anxiety of wondering what will be stolen. The suspicion as he accesses each of his customers, wondering which could be his criminal as the spell makes monsters out of shadows. It's almost enough to tempt me to stay and watch, but it irritates me to be in his presence and I fear I may not be able to control my temper. Instead, giving in to a childish impulse, I stick out my tongue and leave the premises.

The night is calm and quiet as I leave, all little good boys and girls already tucked into bed. It makes me wonder about Claire. Could she still be waiting for me by the lake despite the hour? More likely she has already returned home, convinced that I will not appear this night. She would be correct in that case. I have no intention of seeing Claire this night or anytime soon. Hot as my temper is, I am sure to let my baser instincts take over and do something irreparable to our growing relationship.

It is not a risk I care to take.

000

Monday's in Mineral Town are always painfully slow and today is no different. Few merchant ships sail over the weekend and few arrive, leaving the port skeletal and grave, all bare planks and empty ships. Even the fishermen who are typically slow seem infected with a greater sense of lethargy, and stroll leisurely about the port, fixing their nets and sailing only late into the day. The morning rains haven't helped matters, the constant drizzle faint, but persistent enough most of the town's citizens have opted to stay indoors. Only three in the afternoon and already shops are already closing early, lacking as they are in customers.

It makes it difficult to distract myself. Anticipation stirs through my blood, a vicious eagerness for revenge that has left me edgy and restless for most of the day. Though the rain has allowed me to catch up on precious sleep, it has also granted me the day off, and the workers at the vineyard are all enjoying an unexpected holiday. Usually I would be appreciative, but not today. Muscles coiled as they are, my body is thirsting for a fight, but there are few here that would offer me the challenge I require. It almost makes me miss Uncle. Just almost though. I am not suicidal.

I appease myself with walking. I stroll down cobbled streets, my feet slapping against the wet stones, taking winding paths, wandering aimlessly. Halfway up an incline, I notice the church, a tall chapel dressed in blue and white. Before it is a statue of the Harvest Goddess with her arms outspread, small children clutching at her hem. It is unusual to see her expressed as Mother, usually she is expressed purely as Maiden, but these lands are the birthplace of her following. Local legends claims that the Harvest Goddess took the earth itself as her lover and bore two children, boy and girl, that founded the human race.

It is nonsense of course. There are those among us that still recall a time when we were hailed the gods and goddesses of these lands and humans worshipped us as they do these newer gods. It was a time when magic ran far stronger, long before the realms were split. These newer gods sprang up then, taking up the spaces we had left behind. Regardless, it is impossible for this goddess to be the Great Mother is claimed to be, and it is far more likely that she dallied with a human and bore his children instead.

A few blocks away lies another church as though competing with this one. It is a grander, though shorter structure, built in the shape of a large cross, and before it stands a statue of the Virgin and her god-child the Kristi. They are foreign gods, if foreign is the correct word, brought to this land many centuries ago by the desert peoples and spread by the Roma. These gods, I have been told are far more popular in the cities, where magic is scarce and most of people have forgotten the old gods. It is different here. Surrounded by magic the inhabitants still hold fast to their legends and often embrace both faiths.

They are wise humans, far wiser than their ancestors who would kill those against their faith, claiming it the only source of truth. We _sidhe_ know better. The Great Mother exists within all creation, and all carry a portion of her power. Whatever aspect is manifested, is manifested from her, and though we may be hailed as gods, only part of that power is our own. The greatest is in the power of faith, whereby our followers each lend and bind their own piece of the divine to grant their chosen gods strength.

Humans, of course, fail to realize this.

Of course, they've also never been gods.

I have lingered too long before the statue. A young nun has spied me through the window and makes to approach. As she disappears from it, a wicked through runs through me, and tapping into my power, I dash towards an alleyway, my glamour wrapping around me until I have disappeared into the shadows. She opens the door a moment later, gaping in shock as she looks first one way down the street than the other, and crosses herself, before retreating back into the church.

I grin. I wonder what she thinks she saw. An angel or a devil?

Wandering keeps me occupied for a while yet, and I while away the hours surveying this new town I have come to inhabit. Many of the places are already known to me, but some I have overlooked in my predilection towards more populated spaces. One of these is a small bookshop, tucked between a seamstress and an equally small café. I step in for a while, savoring the scent of paper and the weight of old tomes. The young woman who works behind the counter is a mousey thing, with copper hair and brown eyes. I amuse myself by teasing her, but this prey is too meek, and can only stammer nervously at my attentions. I tire of it quickly.

I discover yet another café, followed by a bakery that sells delicious tarts, and a suspicious little shop claiming to sell magical amulets and fortunes. I stop by there too, unsurprised to find that most of the items are fakes. The fortune teller proves a pleasant surprise, and even were it not for her bright blue hair, I would sense the fae in her. Roane perhaps, or merrow, but something distinctly from the sea. She does not recognize me, nor does she seem to realize I am fae, only that there is something strange about me. She must be fourth or fifth generation, strong enough to share the gifts, weak enough to be ignorant of her heritage.

Much like Claire, honestly. The thought forces me to leave quickly, my anger still raw.

Many blocks later and after one hill climbed, it is fast approaching seven in the evening and I am growing weary of my wandering. Sighing, I head back to Aja Winery, arriving far faster than I had left. I amuse myself for sometime cooking various curries, testing our variations, and producing new results. As the first time, the smell draws in Manna and Duke, and we three share a pleasant dinner of curry, followed by a crème sherry. By ten thirty-five, I am nearly jumping with anticipation, excitement running hot in my blood. Unable to take it any long, I depart.

000

It is half-past eleven when I arrive. The streets are dark and devoid of life. This late, only the inn and the bar are lit. The former is expected, the latter is laughable. How ignorant these humans to think that a bit of light might scare me! It would have been far smarter to have left the place dark, and lured me into a false sense of security. Not that it would have worked, but it would certainly have been better planned!

Stalking forward, I hoist myself into a tree and leap silently onto the roof of the Blue Bar. Standing by the chimney, I can just barely hear the sounds below, and briefly consider the merit of leaping down. I shake my head. Better to waltz in through the front door in a display of power and show that bastard exactly how helpless he is. I grin evilly. Oh, how much fun that will be. I hope he fights! Then I show him how painfully inferior he is to my greatness. Or better yet, I think as the moonlight reflects off my ring, perhaps I will freeze him and let him watch as I ransack his precious bar.

The thought is appealing. Very appealing.

But… I hear something. Footsteps. I frown, straining my senses. Two, no three people are inside. Faintly I can just make out Griffin's voice followed by a higher, more feminine tone. The barmaid must be with him, I realize, but who do the third pair of footsteps belong to? The bar's inhabitants seem to shuffle a bit, and I hear them wondering if I will arrive at all. I sneer. Ha! As though I could be so cowardly! It's almost enough to send me barging in, but the thought of the third inhabitant gives me pause.

Who could it be? Not anyone worthy of my anger that is for sure. Griffin is the only one I care to punish. The girl, Muffy is guilty of nothing save falling for my charm─and I can hardly fault her that. And the third person… They are unlikely to have done anything at all. I sneer. What a dishonorable coward! Calling in some innocent bystander to help him protect his precious bar! Has he no pride? Even the maidens in the mansion had more courage!

It changes my plans slightly, and regretfully I decide on a lure. It's a small piece of magic, just a variation of glamour really. Plucking a coin from my pocket, I cup it in my hands and blow to anchor the spell to the coin and toss it. _There._ Now the humans will be compelled to seek whatever food they scent, cursed never to find it. It is a cruel trick, but far less than what that bartender deserves. I only pity his companions who will burn with hunger while fruitlessly following a scent that will constantly evade them.

The door opens moments later and figures race out into the night. I frown. Where is the third? I wait a while longer, long minutes stretching by to no avail. Had I heard wrong? Was there no one there? I shift uneasily on the roof. I could have sworn I heard three sets of footsteps, but who could…

It hits me with all the force of a lightning bolt. Who else has the blood to resist my glamour? Who else, but my favorite farmer? I snarl, face contorting in rage. That _bloody, fucking wanker!_ How dare he have involved Claire in this!? Were it not for my honor I would follow the damned man and beaten him for the insult! Involving a lovely maiden in something so dangerous! As it is, I must complete the theft I promise. I would not be forsworn for such an idiot.

Swinging down from the rooftops, I compose myself, and reach for the door. It wouldn't do to frighten her too thoroughly. Though… the sadistic part of me cajoles, she does deserve_ some_ punishment…

She is right there when I enter the room, standing defiantly in typical Claire fashion and I am startled by how attractive it makes her. The shy maiden is gone, replaced by the virtuous warrior. Her chin is raised proudly, her arms are crossed, and one curvy hip juts out where she leans on it, her expression chiding. The look of her, standing there heats my blood in a completely different way, anger being replaced with the stirrings of desire. She is glorious my Claire, her eyes flashing with irritation, her stance challenging. She cannot understand how much she tempts me.

In spite of myself, I find myself teasing her, my mind falling back into our familiar pattern. So difficult it is to stay angry when presented with such a delectable morsel! "My, my…" I comment silkily. "Following me, my dear? Or is it that destiny is trying to keep us together?"

"Destiny?" Claire queries. "Hmm..Could it really be _destiny_?" Her tone is mostly mocking, but do I sense a note of hope in there? My eyes narrow slyly, and I lick my lips, offering her my most charming smile.

"It pleases me to hear that you agree, darling. After all how could it not be destiny to for a princess to meet so handsome a prince?" I tease.

"Skye!" Her tone is exasperated, though I can see her irritation is lessening. The familiarity of our banter is luring her into complacency. "How can it be destiny if you _posted_ a notice ahead of time and I came here _purposely _to catch you?"

I chuckle, a rich sound that flits across the senses. "Some would certainly call that destiny." My eyes rove her body, and I allow her to see the full heat of my gaze. "Or is it that you are implying a little something _more_?" I step closer, crowding her as I am wont to do, delighting in the growing rosiness of her cheeks and the sharp dilating of her eyes. She is responding. Retreating as I come closer and closer until her back hits the bar and I am hovering over her, not-quite touching. It is a position I love to put her in. "Perhaps," I purr. "You _wanted _to see me. Perhaps you _wanted_ me to steal _you_ instead, _hmm_? I'd be happy to oblige."

"S-stop Skye!" She protests, her hands pushing at my chest, and I hiss at the contact, leaning in further. She cannot comprehend what she does to me, my darling Claire. Cannot understand how fiercely the predator in me wants to devour her in her shyness, how the fae in me is thrilled by her defiance. Even her little hands, pushing at me feebly is arousing. Her attempts to evade me only make me want her more. "Y-you know that's not it! You know I don't want you to steal anymore!"

Frustration burns in her eyes, mingling traces of fear and desire. My forcefulness has upset her again and she is fast approaching her limit. I back off, allowing her the space to recover knowing that to press too much too soon will end our game prematurely. "Ah, but a thief must steal, how else would he be called a thief?"

"You don't have to be a thief! No one does! If you need money you can get it honestly! You know, with hard work! Besides haven't my gifts helped even a little?"

"More than you know, darling." I reply blithely. "But tonight I must steal. It would hardly be fair to break a promise, wouldn't it?" This time she is the one advancing. Free of my nearness, she is growing bold again, her indignation overtaking the panic that rose in her, yet her cheeks are still flushed and her eyes avoid my own.

"I won't let you steal from Griffin, Skye." Claire warns coldly positioning herself to block the entry to the bar. "You'll have to stop me first!"

"A challenge?" I chuckle. "Very well, dear maiden. I accept." She looks at me startled at the heat in my tone, and I chuckle again, darkly. My mind is already running wild with unique ways to stop_ her_. Ultimately I decide using to use the ring. The darling blonde is not yet ready for my _other_…methods. In a sudden bought of playfulness I announce. "Maiden beam fire!"

The incantation, of course, is useless (such a ring would hardly be an effective weapon if its attacks had to be announced), and the room is swallowed in a bright light. _Hmm..._ Not what I had imagined. Our spells are usually far more subtle, but I suppose blinding one's opponent would be good for a quick getaway.

"Skye! What did you just do to me!?" The lovely blonde frets, her eyes wide as she finds herself immobile. "Why can't I move?!""

I smirk. "Now, now be a good girl and relax. You'll be able to move again soon, I promise." I rub my hands deviously. "But first…"

"Skye, you bastard!" She curses, straining against invisible bonds. "What did you do? Drug me? Tie me up?" Her voice rises with each question, quaking, with a panicked edge. "Damn it! Let me go right now!"

My, my! Claire seems to have developed quite the vocabulary. Much like I have oddly enough. There is a port here too, and fisherman that stop by. Perhaps she too has been spending time with the sailors. The thought irritates me almost as much as it amuses me. Still I have little time to ponder over these additions to her speech, the spell I've place on her will last little less than an hour.

Ignoring Claire's further complaints and inquiries, I vault over the counter, surveying my selections. The cash register I avoid, knowing how meaningless stealing simple change can be. What I want is something that will stir Griffin's blood and leave him aching with loss. There is nothing of interest on the shelves and I rummage instead through the drawers in the back.

Again the selection leaves much to be desired and I amuse myself by switching the labels and creating a little chaos As I ponder whether or not I should attempt to sour the wines, I hear Claire, her voice contemplative. It is a nice change from the fearful cries and expletives she had been hurling at me moments ago. I smile. She is responding far better than I expected. "Skye? Why_ are_ you a thief? You don't really need to steal do you?"

I stop, my hand resting on a bottle of absinthe now labeled as mint liqueur. I chuckle. "I don't know, dearest. Care to take a guess?"

She is silent for a moment, and I can practically hear the thoughts whirling in her head. "Is it… just for fun?" She offers.

I laugh. Hehe! How astute she is! But I can hardly tell her that. A little mystery goes a long way in the game of seduction. "That might be it." I offer. "That might not. There can be a number of reasons, can't there?"

"Skye!" She lets out a moue of irritation. I can almost see her pout from here.

It's deliciously cute.

"Curious, my kitten? You want to know even more about me, hmm? But if I simply tell you it will take the mystique out of our relationship. We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"Skye!" She protests. "Come on! Please? Just be serious for once!" I am sure had she not been immobilized, I would have found myself attacked by now. "And while you're at it release me too!"

"_Tsk tsk!"_ I scold. "Patience, Claire. All good things come with time." I smirk, going back to my rummaging, the clinking of the bottles a musical backdrop to our conversation. "I'll tell you what," I bargain. "If you catch me, I'll tell you anything you want. Deal?"

"As if I could trust anything you say." She mutters under her breath. "Lying bastard…"

Her distaste is palpable, and had she not known of my hobby previously, I'd be concerned, but Claire met me as a thief and has long since made her judgments. The fact that she seeks my company each night is enough to assure me something as simple as this would not destroy her fondness for me.

"You wound me, fair maiden! When have I ever lied to you?" I exclaim dramatically. "Come, you must be the slightest bit tempted, no?"

Claire does not answer, stewing over my words, and I laugh. A moment later my mirth changes into a different type of glee, my eyes shining. It is there I see it. A pair of vintage bottles reading Okuhattan lie tucked away with the spare cups. I smirk. As old as they are, they are surely prized and I read the labels noting they have been brewed in this very village some fifty years past.

Oh yes! This is perfect! Snatching one, I tuck the bottle under my arm and briefly contemplate filching the guitar in the back. But such an instrument is rather large, and unwieldy to carry. Besides, I'm rather fond of the idiot's playing even if I hate his maudlin crooning.

Satisfied, I turn back to Claire, the moment she sees me she glares at me, still frozen by my spell.

"I'm not letting you take that! Put it back Skye!"

"Really?" I drawl. "And just what do you intend to do, dearest? Set me on fire with your eyes? I don't see what else you can achieve in your..." I give her a meaningful look. "position."

"Shut up!" She cries, unnerved by my lazy perusal. "Let me go from this…whatever thing you've done to me and just see what I'll do!"

Anger suits her, my Claire, giving her a compelling cast. Those lovely lips of hers are swollen and red from her chewing, and her eyes radiate with such force. It calls to me like a siren, taunting me to come take what is mine. I shake my head. No. Such a thing won't do. Not at all. I must leave this place lest I find myself doing more than tease my lovely Claire. Instead I place a kiss on her frozen cheek, watching as her eyes widen before she swears colorfully.

"Tempting offer, darling, but I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short." I trill. "Goodnight fair maiden. It has been a pleasure," I bow as I step into the doorway. "Until we meet again! I'll be looking forward to my_ punishment_!"

Bottle in hand, and maiden properly trussed, I silently lament the opportunity lost.

But it is too soon, far too soon. In her mood I would only garner rejection and I cannot have her running from me. The game, after all, is so much more satisfying with willing players. Tip-toeing past the building I vaguely recall the two bartenders are still bespelled and release them. Regret beats at me briefly. I would have liked that oaf to have suffered a bit longer, but I've done enough tonight and my promise has been fulfilled.

Of course, that won't stop me from trying to convince an imp or three to pay a visit.

Imps so do love liquor…

Casting a final glance at the perplexed duo, I turn away, laughing as they rush back to the bar, tripping over their feet as they do so. I chuckle. If that is all it takes to undue them, how would they survive the imps?

It almost makes me reconsider.

Almost.


	13. Index

**A/N: A reader commented that things were starting to get a bit complicated and hard to understand, so here is an index to help. There are numerous other additions likely to come, but this should keep up with where we are currently.**

**READ THIS FIRST: If you are here for the LATEST CHAPTER please GO TO THE CHAPTER BEFORE THIS. The index will continue to remain the last entry as new chapters are added.**

* * *

**Note on Geography:**

Much of the Geography in this Universe is similar to our own, with a few key differences. Most noticeably this is in that the Islands of the UK are partially connected to the European continent in an arrangement vaguely reminiscent of Pangea.

_Names of Geographic places (other than Canon towns, villages, and cities) are variations of historical names. Ex. London= Londin. _

**Index:**

* * *

**Characters:**

* * *

**Skyelynn Rilynnthus Nis Caelanea** – (Sky-lin Re-lin-thus Nis Kal-an-nay) (literally) Skyelynn of House Rilynnthus born of Caelanea. **_Also Known as:_** Skye, The Phantom Skye, Lynn Steiner, Prince of Bhéarra

**Caelanea** – (Kal-an-nay) Skyelynn's mother, elder sister of Lyrinelle, daughter of Iverllis. **_Also Known as_**: Princess of Bhéarra, Cairwy

**Lyrinelle -** (Lir-in-el) Skyelynn's uncle, Caelanea's brother, son of Iverllis. **_Also Known as: _**First Prince of Bhéarra

**Neminae: **Skyelynn's aunt and youngest of the three siblings. She died as a result of conflict between two warring clans.

**Iverllis **(pronounced as French Hiver + lis) –Skyelynn's Great-Grandmother. She is _Ylessa_ of the kingdom of Bhéarra and a princess of the High Court. **_Also Known as:_** Queen of Bhéarra, Cailleach Bheur

**Deidre: **Rilla's daughter. Half-brownie, half-drow. She was blinded during the Witch Hunts but developed a minor gift of foresight as a result.

**Rilla:** A brownie and head cook of Skye's manor and Skye's nanny as a small child. She has a half-drow daughter named Deidre.

**Maddie: **A young brownie apprenticed under Rilla.

**Niall:** A cait sith. Deidre's troublesome familiar.

**Synstylae- **A pixie. She is primary spy of Caelanea and member of the pixie court.

**Arranis:** High Queen (_Tal Ylessa)_ of the Unseelie Court. She is Iverllis' niece and Skyelynn's second cousin.

* * *

**Terminology:**

* * *

**Aurims: **(n.) Currency of faerie. 1 Aurim is roughly equivalent to 1,400 G.

**Aeraeviel – **One of the major houses of the Sidhe. They are known for their promiscuity, seductiveness, and rare skill in jewel and ore-crafting. Most members have variations of red and pink hair.

**Bás Dearg- **Red death. One of the great weapons of the fae. Forged for Lyrinelle. It's cut induces madness and bloodlust.

**Bhéarra- **Kingdom ruled by Iverllis, whose sithen can be found in the forests between Mineral Town and Forget-Me-Not Valley.

**Brownie - **(Brounie)Short, usually benevolent fae adept at housework and fieldwork. They have greater immunity to iron than most fae and are exceedingly strong for their small frames. They are always dark-haired, dark-eyed, and painfully thin. Their males of the race are called Hobs.

**Brón Bán** – _White Sorrow._ One of the great weapons. Forged for Calanea. It has power over chill.

**Chamber of Trials – **Sacred space used for the Five Trials of Power, the first of which is the Fire Trial. Each court has such a space.

**Cu Sith** - (Coo Si) Faerie hound. Appearance varies from as slight as Greyhound to broad as an Elkhound depending on breed. They are often white, red, and tan in coloring. The **gwyllgi **(or hounds of the wild hunt) are the exception to the rule, being entirely black with red or gold eyes and are often the size of young bulls.

**Cait Sith - **Faerie cat. Slightly larger than common cats, they are often black with white markings, most particularly on their chests.

**Dryad- **(drī-əd, -ˌad) Wood nymph. An exclusively female race of fae known as protectors of trees. Their lives are bound to the tree they protect and will die when that tree dies. Few that survive the death of their tree become Greenhags.

**Elves-** Sub-race of fae similar to the _sidhe. _They are the descendants of the northern fae who refused to relocate faerie during the Great Rending. As a result they have lost the immortality of the _sidhe_. While exceedingly long lived, they can be killed by any mortal wound though they have some immunity to cold iron.

**Fae Seer**- Rare humans born immune to the magic of the fae. It is unknown what has causes this gift to manifest.

**Goblins:** Extremely violent race of fae that includes numerous are weak against magic but more resistant to iron than most fae. They are known for their extreme strength, stamina, and are the core foot-soldiers of the fae. Those capable of taking flight are known to regularly join the Wild Hunt.

**Greenhags**- Subtype of Hag. Born of Dryad's that have lost their tree and their descendants. Their touch can blight crops and spoil milk.

**Hags- **An exclusively female race of fae, hags are produced when nymphs and other semi-immortal fae survive the loss of their homes or the source of their magic. They have limited skill at glamours and often appear as wizened and bony women wearing hooded cloaks.

**Liath Dubhar – **_Lilac Shadow_**. **One of the great weapons. Originally forged for Nemaine, daughter of Thalik, the dagger now belongs to Skye. It has power over shadows and healing.

**Pixie- **Race of diminutive fae known for their skill at glamour and enchantment. They have minor shape-shifting ability, capable of changing size between three inches eighteen inches. Those of royal blood such as the Queen are capable of reaching heights of four feet. They are found in both courts, being considered neutral parties, and are used extensively as spies as a result.

**Seelie** – (See-ly) (n.) Term for Fae that are part of the Seelie Court. Comprised of the most beautiful of the fae races and generally indifferent to humans, they are commonly considered the most benevolent of fae towards humans.

**Seelie Court – **Original High Court of faerie. Currently ruled by High King Meallawn. **_Also known as_**_ The High Court of the Sun, The Summer Court, The Bright Court, The Holy Host. The Court of Day._

**Sidhe **_(Si, Sith)_ – (SHEE; _alt._ SEE) (n.1) High Fae or of the Royal courts. _Specifically: _Race of fae that created the faerie mounds. (n.2) the faerie mounds.

**Sithen **(SEE-Ten)** – **(n.)the outside of the faerie mound, also used to refer to the mound itself.

**Slaugh- **Kingdom that includes the most frightening races of fae. Primary races include the Night Terrors, Wraiths, Hags, and Furies all of which are capable of flight. **_Also Known As:_** The Unholy Host. The Flying Dead.

**Unseelie** – (Un-See-ly) (n.) Term for Fae that are part of the Unseelie Court. Home to some of the most dangerous and fearsome fae, they are commonly thought to be malevolent towards humans due to their more frequent interactions with them.

**Unseelie Court** – Second High Court of faerie split as a result of the 2nd Great Witch War. Currently ruled by High Queen Arannis. **_Also known as_**_ The High Court of the Moon, The Winter Court, The Dark Court, The Unholy, and the Court of Night._

**Ylessa** – (Less-ah) (n.) Queen. Title held by a female monarch of a lesser _sidhe _court. Similar to a human Duchess. The male form is **_Ylessir._**

**Tal Ylessa**- (T-awl-less-ah) High Queen. Title held by the female monarch of a High Court of the fae. She presides over all other courts and lives in the faerie capital. Currently this title is held by Ariannis. The male form is **_Tal Ylessir_**.

**The First Great Witch War**- First of many wars between the Witches and the Fae. The conflict ended when the once-separate kingdoms of the fae banded together into one court and separated faerie from the mortal realm creating the_ sithen_ as a result.

**The Great Rending- **Separation of faerie from the mortal realm. Also referred to as the end of the First Great Witch War.

**The Wild Hunt: **Primary military force of faerie. It is lead by the Master of the Hunt, the Four Riders, and is comprised largely of the hounds and the Slaugh though it is sometimes joined by the Goblins.


End file.
